Once in a while I’d stare blankly at the upper deck steel bed above me and I’d wonder when this homesickness will ever subside. It’s been two years but I still feel like I’m just having a really long vacation from home. It still feels like my clothes and the very few items I bought for myself still belong to my luggage. It still feels like I just recently checked in and I still have yet to discover new things. It still feels like I have not established a career – if not a life here. It still feels like I am still wandering… lost…and left…wondering.
It still feels like I’m just borrowing this fast pace spinning world and that it will never be mine for the taking. At the end of the day I would have to pack my stuff and find my way…
I crave for a real home – the one where I can call MINE. It’s a place I can come home to when I am restless and bushed from a long day at work. A place with soft warm sheets and king size bed. A place with the aroma of home baked cookies. A place of soothing hot bath and soap bubble. The familiar voices, the laughter and the chatter from the living room. The television game show and the soap opera madness. They all round up to create an atmosphere of priceless ease.
I lost a home when I lost mom. The house that sheltered me for thirty years is now unrecognizable. If dad had a choice he would have left that place. It has become a place of chaos and uncertainty; of disarrayed memories and dusty shelves. I don’t know how dad manages really, with all the pieces of his wife’s affection scattered on the floor and every kitchen tile along with the roots of our childhood that have outgrown the tiny house he built for us. I don’t know when but it came to a point when our dreams no longer fit in his ceiling. We were so eager to leave believing that we can always come back. But going back does not necessarily mean coming home. Going back could mean, visiting the remaining portions of your past which consist entirely of old brick walls and dirty pavements.
And I have been missing home for some time now. Every bits of it. Crumbs of my very young heart who never knew that life can (sometimes be) really really lonely and scary and mean.
I can’t remember it all but I know that though it was small, it was lovely. I couldn’t be more safe and blissful in a small space filled with people who made me feel so cherished. Sadly – as much as I want to, I can never go back. It will never be the same again. Not without mom.
But – I can always make a new one. A place stuffed with joy and fine stories. I will strive to make a better, more wonderful, sparkling happy version of that place. I know I will.
Hopefully, with Sam.♡