Where the heart is

It would not be (entirely) wrong to say that I've been a "nomad" for the past decade.

Nomad: 

pronunciation Nōmád

Latin: nomas, meaning roaming 

A person having no permanent residence. 

Subconsciously as I romanticize or dramaticize (she has a penchant for drama, this one) everyday tidings, I have thought long and hard about home; the concept of it, what does it mean, where is home, where do I truly belong? One may say my birth and childhood home, the place where I spent 2/3rds of my life, where I went from pediatric -> adolescent -> almost adult on paper, is home. And I agreed.

Hence, nomad. I left for the states about 10 years ago, leaving a "permanent" abode and venturing out into the absolute unknown. Maybe not as risqué as shown in "the man vs wild" but not too far off in concept. Ever since, this question has been looming over my head like a hankering hangover. 

One of my most frustrating qualities is the strength of my attachment (or detachment). I am attached, deeply, to people, things, ideas, and sentiments. And it comes as no surprise, that this attachment also extends toward my childhood home. I'd like you to imagine that my soul is made up of rays that fill every crack in the home and mind you, it's an oldie - mi casa, so imagine many! 

(You're reading a piece I wrote, so go along with it, will you?!)

I've dreamt, envisioned, transported, and wept about and for that place, not once or twice but every time I return. That is for landmarks and reminders of every phase of my being and yet, it has an inate ability to bring me unparalleled comfort.

So I was convinced, that there is nothing that could ever come close. I'd always feel like a nomad after leaving home. Too alien too fleeting to belong anywhere else, too remiss too absent to fit right back where I started... because time is a biyotch and does not wait for anyone (especially, the depressed lost souls) to (mentally) move on. 

So I'd say that the 'stary eyed- no worldly experience Noob-quickly turned into a horrified FOB' that stepped into this country would be "shooketh" to learn that the bull was able to put down roots and find a semblance of normalcy (after what seemed like an eternity) in this space.

An unassuming space, a blank canvas that basically said I'll be whatever you need me to be. Saw me and nurtured me through seasons, relations, crises, and opportunities. Gave me reassurance that it'd be my refuge. My space. 

Countless moods, celebrations and brawls, chapter after chapter, my constant. A silent spectator, seeing me trying to build my habitat, when I was actually building my constitution.

Every nook, every corner, I've touched, I've felt, I've lived in. I can confidently say that about this space over any place else where I've resided. 

Today, as I prepare to bid adieu to this house, I'm plagued with all the memories I've created here and an intense desire to leave more traces of me back....maybe filling in that screw hole in the wall (that the superlatively well endowed yet utterly stingy rental company will charge me for) with a love note to this place and caulk-sealing it shut? Maybe carving my initials under the apartment number plate? Maybe penning my name in some blind spot....but I resist. Because that's not her, this space. Loud oversaid, permanent (irreversible) declarations of possession, na. She was never meant to be owned, to be possessed - only to be held.

If there's one thing she's taught me is to love from afar and let time drive the needful. So instead, I will take her medals on my soul. The little crack in my mind she healed by giving me my own space. The small gash in my heart she sealed by letting me see my loved ones enjoy her warmth. The tiny bend in my spine she straightened as she said stand tall.

I'm sure I'll autopilot back here the next few times that I exit the highway from work (habit, just like one would with the new year date 202⅘), I'm sure my chest will feel a little tighter each time I pass by the adjacent mall, I'm sure I'll tell someone I live here only to correct myself mid sentence..

And just like that, in fleeting flashbacks of the past, she'll always be part of me and me, hers. 

Thank you home, for all that you are and have been to 

me. 

Your grateful daughter.