I don’t know where I am but one thing is for sure, I don’t belong here. Nor I belong to other places I’ve been. I thought in the beginning that home is where I was, with my family but I was wrong. I didn’t belong there either. That’s why probably I always sneaked out the window when I supposed to be sleeping and play on my own instead of playing with my siblings. I like to be alone, even then.
Growing up I didn’t (and still don’t) understand these people. I feel that I have nothing in common with them. I have different moral and values. I don’t lie and cheat and I don’t believe in stealing. But I did what I was told to do, always. I even sold my soul to rescue them but it didn’t help. I think they are lost too.
We had too many houses. None of those we owned. We stayed only for awhile. We were gone before I could ever feel at home in any of those abodes. The same with places. We were always moving.
The longest I stayed in one place is with someone my family thought was/is the best for me, for them. I spent (wasted) twenty years of my life (youth) there. But it wasn’t home. During that time I felt I was on transit, that I was on my way to somewhere, that one day I was going to wake up and will find out that my life then was nothing but a long, long nightmare. It didn’t happen of course. I had to force myself to realize that nothing will change unless I take the crucial step. Eventually I did.
But not before I did all those things looking for home, for my rainbow connection. I thought I will find it during one of those adventures though I didn’t know that I was looking for it subconsciously, I thought I was having fun. Those choices have consequences, but I will gladly do it again. To have some respite is better than suffering continuously. I’m only human.
After I escaped I have chosen to find home in the most likely place, somewhere new, fresh, unspoiled, almost a fairy-tale. The perfect beginning of a new story. I thought: here I can start again.
But it is like incorporating Sinbad in a Cinderella story. You cannot mix water with oil. Feeling pain is better than feeling nothing. You might as well be dead. Is life really like this? Because everyday I wake up, the first thought that comes in my head is: this is it? Is that normal? I didn’t realize that home means boring. Too peaceful, too calm.
Is there nothing in between two extremes? Why it have to be one thing or the other? Where is the gray area in this? Do I have to draw (color) it myself? Maybe I’m a gypsy, a nomad… Perhaps I am not really cut out for home, wherever that is…