Homes & Hearts

home isn't where the heart is

Some monotonies are kinder than others. And some others are yet to find their purpose. They say home is where the heart is.

But home has never been a constant, changing over the years – months lost in Enid Blyton’s worlds one year, video games in the early hours of the morning the next, following questionable DIY tutorials after and unplanned trips later.

Now, home is just a deep desire to gain some semblance of understanding, a craving for peace and an eternal break from the constant stream of questions that seeps through everything. My heart has never been set on anything – it teeters on the edge of fantasy and reality and apparently – so does my home.

As I try to find my heart, I think about the bearded man who’s always smoking. A poster that never fades in the sun. A bridge that’s always in progress. A song that never leaves. Stories that are always one chapter away from the ending.

There are so many variables and it feels like I leave a bit of my heart everywhere, so I can come back later to finally resolve all of this seemingly random experiences and sights. However at the end of the day, I somehow find my home in the stories of strangers, structures and colours I’ll never know – and I leave my heart scattered across memories, transcending time and logic.

Home; it’s got layers upon layers, each comprising several unique elements that are in turn, composed of the most random events imaginable – a smile here and a question there – tiny memories that seem huge later.

By tracing the path one’s heart has traversed, it appears that, home, more than anything else, serves as an adventure, as opposed to a place and a wonderful one at that. An adventure of discovery, connections and letting go.

Come to think of it, I don’t think my heart has ever truly belonged to me. Perhaps home is a haven that’s everywhere.

~ original post (January 24, 2024)