Homeless

All this while being away, I pretended that I have something to go back to. When I am around fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers, without being any of them, I keep remembering the home I have left behind. That feeling of being at home to which I surrender, in my mind palace, whenever I feel away. It is that warmth you feel during a cold winter evening, beside a fireplace. You have to stay away from the source, not to avoid getting burnt, but to face the winter. Getting burnt would be easy, it would make me alive. The pain, the sorrow, the regret-have they started to define me?

This time, I was coming back with a happy heart, a partially healed soul and the courage to be able to say goodbye more easily. My plane landed, and my dream started. Everything was happening just as I had imagined except nothing is the same. My city is the same, so are the people and the topics. Everything is exactly the same as I had left. Untouched. 

The only difference is that all that is now covered with a plastic sheet which can't be torn. Everything is independent of my being and everything is exactly the same. No matter how hard I try, I cant be a part of that sameness. Suddenly, I realise that I am homeless. I am going to be always far away and a shadow. All that was dear to me is still here, but I cant touch them. I cant pierce through the plastic. 

I am now floating on a box. I can never be a part of my past. It is all over. Now, I have to be at home in another city, with no friends and as a foreigner who is too familiar too the foreign land. 

So maybe I was wrong. Home isn't, for me, where my past self was. That is only in my mind. Home is where rhythm is. Home is where I am doing the same things as the others. Home is where I am not different. Except, I will always be. I am homeless. 

Does it hurt?
Yes.
Did you tell him?
No.
Does it hurt?
Yes.
Did you tell him?
No.
Does it hurt?
Yes.
Did you tell him?
No.
Why not?
I don't want to.
Are you forgiving him?
Maybe.
Why?
I have hurt him more.
Does it hurt?
Yes. A lot.
Are you broken forever?
I don't want to give up on him. So, no.
Does it hurt?
It's a numbing pain.
Did you tell anyone?
No. I cried in the toilet and shower.
Are you better?
Better than whom?
Would you let him go?
He let go of me. So, I have to make a place for him inside me. He will stay there.
Does he know that?
I don't want him to know.
Why not?
He will be angry with me.
Does it hurt?
I am fine. Thanks.

Loving and unloving

Today is my last day of being 24. What have I learned this year? I surely didn't manage to stop caring. But, I have realised a few things, or have forced myself to. Some people are irreplaceable. There's nothing called moving on, only getting accustomed to the pain.
With some people, you fall in love. You keep falling, and they never catch you. You try to grab on to a wall and admire them. You feel like falling for them again. And once again, they don't catch you. This goes on for a while, till you are surrounded by darkness and despair.
Then, you see this long hand coming at you. Do you grab it? Do you give up? These walls were bounding the vulnerable you. It is your home. The familiarity. What do you do? You never know whose hand this is. But at least it is a hand. I grabbed it and the walls caved in on me. I fought with myself for making such a decision and for destroying the well. It took with it all my emotions and feelings and ability to love and care.
When I came above ground, there was a lot of sunlight and trees and fresh air. My body felt better. I found my mind again. But my heart kept revisiting the ruins of the well. The hole was trying to close itself, burying all my emotions. Every time I went back, the hole would reopen a little for me to be able to greet my feelings. After some time I realised that I am stopping the hole to fill and close and build something on it. The shadows of well asked me to stay away. So I am away now. I visit the site sometimes. I am happy that there is a new construction going on.