Home?

One of my favourite lyrics of all time are from a Romanian song that I have known since I was a kid. The lyrics are "iarba verde de acasa, sa ma ratacesc prin lume nu ma lasa", which essentially reads "the green grass from home doesn't let me get lost in the world". It always resonated with me as I always thought that Romania will always be close to my heart and will always feel like home despite beginning a new life elsewhere, far away from "home".

In recent years, I started questioning that concept of "home" and where that location was. I like being with my family in their home here in Canada, but it stopped feeling like home a while ago. So I moved elsewhere, on my own, in hopes of finding that feeling of home.

I have been on my own for just over a year and I haven't been able to find that home-like feeling. I questioned the tangibility of such a place. Is home a place or a feeling? Is it a person or a community? Is it something constant or ever-changing? What is home?

A few weeks ago I took a trip with my roommate to a nearby city. It was weird that although we were gone for only a few days, I found a piece of exactly what I was looking for. It was in the sights, in the air, and in everything I was experiencing. It was in the experiences, and it was in the activities. It was a breath of air and the wind in my hair.

Home and the concept of home is certainly a subjective topic. For me, it is not a place and is technically a feeling that is influenced by a multitude of factors. It could be a sentence that someone says that puts me at ease. A phone call with a dear friend. A city I have not seen yet but have had some sort of attraction towards. A hug with my mom or a drink shared with my dad. The act of holding hands or a kiss. The trust put in me by someone I care about. That is home.

Not meant to be

It’s probably better to feel less,

You spare a headache that way.

You go on about your merry life,

Forget there’s someone else.

A commodity you need,

A way to fill the void.

You long for the touch,

But not for the soul.

The distance is good,

It helps with reality.

The reality that you are not his,

And he, well he is who knows?

A means for pleasure that you cannot keep.

When the moment is up,

You pack up and leave.

You do not object and do,

Just like you are supposed to.

Growing pains

Mind in the clouds, restless thoughts

I think about what if.

What if I never left,

Would our fates seize to exist?

I gather all my strength to admit a simple truth,

I am not quite who I wish to prove.

I stumbled a lot,

I even fell.

Although I got back up,

My scars show quite well.

They show a story of one who dreamed,

That the world was just what she believed.

She believed in fairytales and happily every afters,

The cynic once told her, it might not even happen.

She went ahead to see for herself.

A lesson learned, a tale to tell.