Home is where the heart is.
I’ve been wandering around these passages since I’ve been back, remembering everything that used to be. I remember skirting a bit to the side for a dog that used to sleep in that spot. He was big back then, it was a habit I guess, he slept a lot.
I remember a rickety bed that I used to sleep on, its been fixed now. I’m sleeping in it again. I have the same bed, the same sheets, down to the exact same pillows I used for my entire young adult life. Everything’s still there, packed up in a cupboard with a few extra clothes and a bunch of books put away in boxes I packed myself before I left for something new.
Its like the echo of a well. You shout down it, the sound rushing back up, loud at first, but the longer you listen, the softer the sound gets. Until its a whisper. Until its gone.
Its like the stories you tell from past experiences. ‘The good old days’ you had with your friends. It warms you up thinking about it, but over time it changes in your mind. You start to forget the small bits, and the story you remember when your reminiscing one day with the people who were there is different to the way you remember it back then.
I am not the life I have lived before me. I am not the things I own, nor are they me. I am not choreographed future of habits and comforts repeated over and over again. I am not the mold of the world that is expected around me. I am not determined by the memories I have had, nor the memories I will make.
I am not governed by the friends I have made or the people I will meet. I am governed by the values I learn from each and everyone of the people I have known and will know in the future.
I am not the topics discussed in a conversation I have no interest in. I am not the repetition of a society that is solely focused on its politics. I do not begrudge the topics of conversation a person has on their mind, day in and day out, I only hope it fluctuates and grows, ebbing and changing.
I am not a critique of those around me.
I am the unvoiced, unheard, sound that is repeating in the back of my mind.
I am a nomadic heart.
I am home.