The art of not belonging anywhere, I so impressively excel at.
For the longest time I believed it was my fate to always be split in between places. Always on the road and never truly finding home. It’s like I’ve had my soul split between different places and I could never seem to find the glue to stick them all together, life always puled harder than I did.
Throughout the years I found places and people that only broke me more, split me more, and I became comfortable with my broken pieces. I found a flawed way to protect my self from being torn in between places and decided I’d be better off on my own. I’ve had enough, filled my quota and wasn’t taking on any new admissions. I was gonna become my own home. And I succeeded, although I shouldn’t have.
People are great, they add color to your life, and it’s quite a dumb idea to isolate yourself from them. The world will still mistreat you when you’re by yourself, and on top of that, at end of the day you won’t have anyone to turn your silence into music.
It wasn’t a bad life and it wasn’t a good one either. It was … lukewarm. I’m quite found of lukewarm feelings, they don’t tend to hurt.
I’ve read once about the Japanese art that consists of repairing broken pottery with gold. Kintsugi. Not only are they fixing the items, they are turning their flaws into value. I was broken, split, and somehow I found my gold. I’m still torn into pieces, but there’s something holding me back together. This is a really lame and shitty metaphor, I wish it wasnt so truthful.
And I don’t wanna say it aloud, I fear it’ll make it hurt more later on. But I’ve been feeling like I’m home. Whatever that means exactly. And the thought of losing it freightens me. For once, I’m scared to move on to the next thing. How many more places out there exist that’ll make you forget you’re missing a few pieces?
It’s not perfect, no place is. I’ve had some miserable days, I’ve been angry, frustrated and left with tears in my eyes. However, I haven’t found myself searching for an emergency exit, looking for an excuse to leave, like I did many times before. Even when it sucks, it ain’t that bad.
It took me a while to find a place where I actually wouldn’t mind staying and a routine I wouldn’t mind falling into, and people who I wouldn’t mind splitting for. It took me a while to be willing to do that again.
Because life can beautifully ironic, the one time I wouldn’t mind staying, I’ll have to leave. And on one hand, I’m glad I won’t get a chance to over welcome my stay, it’s good to leave on a good note. To leave in a way I can still miss it later on.
However, I’m left to admit that I’m a furtive creature and I just wanna stay home.