Looking back at old times, time seemed to stretch endlessly with limitless possibilities of how they future may unfold. As my friend Emily's latest blog post discusses, home can be one of countless places, wherever we may lay our heads for the night.
Home for me for 18 years was walking to Grammie's house, catching up on all the craziness of our small town and the bureaucracy of grade school {particularly high school}, and snacking on Klondike bars and Pepsi.
Since her passing, and being away for so long, my connections to this small town keep *ping ping* snapping, releasing their tethers, which is bittersweet as I always thought I wanted to get away, but hold on to certain memories to preserve them for as long as possible...
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| Booboobeeboo, Grammie, and my beautiful sissy |
Glancing through old photographs and my phone's photo reel, it's evident how I've grown, not merely physically, but mentally and psychologically as well.... Reading through Emily's post had me thinking of the transition to my new home and my natural tendency to continue to refer to my childhood digs as "home."
While E-town is my current home, according to my credit cards' billing address and updated DMV profile, bumfuck C-field and wherever my Mum and Fajer are located will always feel like home as well....and same goes for dear ol' London. Hell's bells, I even called the Greyhound bus during my birthday
This bright-eyed girl has seen many, many things and many places. In looking back, I never could have fathomed I'd be where I am {for better or for worse}, but hope that I can be someone of whom my younger self could possibly be proud.
And even though many of my adventures have been taken alone instead of with the person I had thought they would be with when I was younger, perhaps that has only helped shape me to be more independent, fiercer and hungrier for happiness.
Maybe home can be in my own head and heart, both of which have seemed hostile at one point or another {or twelve}. Perhaps the key into my safe haven is finding peace with myself and, like Emily, calling my night's final resting place, "home."
Happy photos from happy times in the past: 17 & 18, respectively. As much as I like to think I've grown from this smiling brunette, I can't help but wish I could channel some of her optimistic spirit to help fuel my wild child and bull-headed tendencies, and fashion them into serum for when I'm feeling trapped or doubting my capabilities, whether it's in personal or professional aspects.
Little girl. I've spoken back to her in my journal before as a means of comfort, and I hope that little girl inside at least hears some of the things I tell her, albeit knowing my stubborn self, she likely won't.
Verdict on home: it's within every one of us. It's a plethora of things: a person, a place, a memory, a song. It's comfort.
It's bed, which is where I'm heading.
xxxxx
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