colibri

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.

How the heart grows founder in the distance.
It’s been a while, yet I’ve never loved you
As much I love the memory of you today.

We go from sinners to saints when we pass the gate
But I don’t recall a single one of your mistakes
All you ever dared to do was love
And I can only aspire to ever be that brave.

In days like today, when I feel the least of myself, you often come to mind. How much you wanted me to be happy, to live a full life and love wildly. And I hold on to that. Your hopes and dreams for me keep me from fainting.
It’s funny that even after all those years, you’re still the one pushing me to be better. I’ve only known you for slightly more than a handful of years and the memory of you still hunts my days. I can’t go anywhere and not bring you with me.
I can’t hear your voice in my mind anymore, I can only recall how it sounded. Soft, slightly raspy, and joyful. You always talked like you were smiling.
It’s funny how my most vivid memory of you is from a sunny morning during summertime, the sun peeking through the blinds, you sitting at the edge of my bed, explaining to me what it meant to mourn. Your wife’s brother had passed, and when you told me she would be mourning, I asked you what that meant, I hadn’t been taught that yet. I must have been 6 or 7 at the time. I knew very little and I wasn’t the best kid, but you loved me still. And you cared for me, you always had my best interests at heart. You gave me a yellow bird, because I liked to help you take care of yours so much. You whistled everywhere you went, and taught me how to do it myself. Every other day you’d call me a different bird name. There’s lump in my throat every time someone ask about the hummingbirds, I still can’t bring myself to talk about you. Not as well as you deserve it.
I’m sorry for failing so terribly at doing you justice. I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to be better. For you. Because of you.

It’s the middle of June. I’m sitting at a cool coffee place. It’s sunday. It’s sunny. I could say I’m content. I wouldn’t say it’s hard to make me happy, but I’m still picky about it.

Happiness comes in many shapes and forms, and to me, happiness is to be left alone with my thoughts for a little bit. I don’t find being alone sad and lonely whatsoever, it’s quite the opposite actually. Bits like this one help me keep my sanity. There’s no pressure to say the right thing, to make the conversation flow, to avoid an awkward silence.
Silence is underrated. It doesn’t have to be awkward just because it’s quiet, sometimes you can just allow yourself to exist in stillness.

It’s a difficult thing to obtain: silence. An even harder thing to find? Silence for two.

People often thing that just because you’re quiet, you’re not connected. When in fact, to me, the goal has always been to find someone I can be quiet with.

As someone who is not the best with conversation, I often struggle to find the right words, and dealing with the pressure of finding the right thing to say can be quite overwhelming, especially when you’re trying to get to know someone.

But how do you get know someone if you don’t say anything? I guess words flow once the silence is comfortable enough. When you don’t feel the pressure to say something, you can talk about anything. And that’s what I want. An easy conversation starts with the lack of need to say something.

I guess I want the impossible. I’ve always wished for something that doesn’t quite exist. And I don’t bother to settle for less than my impossible standards. I’ve grown too comfortable in my own silence to let someone else disturbe it. I want someone who will do more than respect my silence, I want someone who will understand it and crave for it as much as I do.

I don’t think that’s impossible. Or even necessarily difficult. But I do know that’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m wiling to sit by myself for many more sundays until I find that perfect silence for two. In the meantime I can just waste my words here instead.