It was never here that I yearned to be.
I am going back home.
Not knowing whom to find there.
Yet, I'll be home.
Safe.
“I miss something, I don't know what. There’s this hollowness, you know. I never used to feel it when I was with my friends. With my bunch. I can't seem to get rid of this.” She sounded frustrated. It made me think about it. The voice. Was it always there? Was it always there but we didn't listen because our world was too loud? I guess, now that it's calm and quiet in here without the voices of anybody else, we are hearing this. The voice. No one is around, and we are left to deal with ourselves, all alone. How often do we end up searching the wrong places for things? No, not the wrong cupboard to find the other socks, or the drawer where you misplaced your wallet. I am talking about love, or whatever you think could fill the void. We crave all the love and happiness but don't know where to find it. It's no longer in a person, an activity, a job, or even a passion. You no longer find it where you used to find it. It's no longer your hometown or the place where you grew up. But, someplace that doesn't even exist. You think it’s maybe that holiday that never happened. Maybe it is the trip with friends that didn't work out. Your favorite cousin’s marriage you never got to attend. The guy whom you wish you were dating. Your ex, who was once the light of your life. I feel like we look for it in the strangest of spaces. Not saying that they aren't the sacred spaces where love could stay, but just that they aren't the home where it resides. We might even find that comfort in these spaces, once in a while, or even for a long period, but not forever.
Lately, I've been spending so much time with my grandparents. It’s difficult to see the people who raised you go through old age. All alone. I wonder what it means to be alone, for them. Is it not having us around? Is it the fact that their spouse isn't around? Or do they miss friends? I just don't know. Or are they just content? Content to see us grow and thrive. To have fulfilled their life goals? Are they happy with themselves? Who knows. I don't. I wonder if their voices are loud. Loud enough that they crave something louder to silence it.
But if there is one lesson that life has taught me quite young, it is that, No matter what, no matter who comes and goes, whatever activity you immerse yourself in to distract yourself, You will find yourself one day. Glaring right back at you. Your conscience. Right in your face. The voice will be louder and clearer then. You won't be able to run away from that. It will show you everything you are, apart from all the things that sugarcoated you. And I realize that there's nothing that's going to protect me from that encounter. But then, I shouldn’t feel lonely; it should feel like coming home. I don't know how to put that feeling to words. But remember how it felt to look in the mirror once you're back home from school. It's not as neat as you left home. But finally back home. It might be that feeling, the after-the-chaos kind—the feeling you have when you open the door to your house after a trip. You know you are home, again. The feeling you have on the day you vacated your college hostel. On the way back, you couldn't help thinking about the good memories. But you realize, you are not there anymore. You are home, once again. In all these little moments throughout our lives, I believe we exist with ourselves. Just us. Our most real and mundane selves.
Eventually, just like that, we all come back to ourselves. We will all, get back home. Hopefully, where the love resides, not just stay overnight. Until we learn to deal with ourselves, we are always seeking refuge elsewhere. We always seek ourselves in others and strange places. We do this to avoid feeling alone, to avoid feeling at home, to avoid feeling like ourselves. Like old age, but sooner. We might rant all day and night about how much we miss the happenings, the vitality, the youth, the carefree moments. But still, we’ll end up with ourselves. Back home. Hopefully, safe.
Comments