When you are small, things just are, but when you grow up, they ought to be how they aren’t. We forget their existence and question their relevance, forgetting relevance isn’t predetermined, it’s derived.
We have set up camp right at the horizon. We are pushing our boundaries, not realizing that it won’t take more than a moment to level the playing field.
But even if it takes more than a many moments for us, we will bounce back; better, stronger and more determined than ever because even when nature goes out to reclaim what was originally hers, we will fight to retain each and every one of ours.
Why are the funniest people the loneliest?
The ones who make jokes rarely find people who can take them.
The things I believed in as a child, I lost belief in when confronted by life.
It was the hard way that I realized, I was right all along.
We were sitting somewhere near the beach, and the sun out of force of habit was shining rather ferociously. Out of contempt of a job well done, she looked up half-heartedly to congratulate the sun. It was then that I actually noticed her eyes for the first time.
In what was a combination of a half-squint and a realization that perhaps looking at the sun wasn’t a very good idea, I noticed them, reflecting the sun and shining as bright, maybe even a little more.
I think she noticed.
What does it mean when someone breaks you? How do you feel?
Or simply unaware?
You definitely don’t feel full of yourself! (apologies) You feel empty, like somebody just took a part of you, something so dear that even the ones closest to you didn’t get a whiff of, something even you didn’t know existed inside of you, you. It doesn’t matter because it’s already taken away from you the moment it is born. It’s like taking a new born child away from it’s mother.
You finally catch one glimpse of yourself, of a part that is truly you, but it’s gone before you know it. It’s the ‘what could’ve been’ that kills you, not the ‘what is’ or ‘what was’.
Interestingly, you don’t break until you volunteer. Don’t regret it.
Home. It’s an abstract term. You realise it when you’re not at home anymore. What is home they ask? Family? Work? Is home a subjective term? Does everybody even have a home? Mind you I didn’t say a house, I said home.
When you’re outside and you’re still as comfortable, then that’s probably home. What is weird is when you start feeling detached while thinking about what you would conventionally call home.
It is then you start thinking about why some people stick on to their houses, which they claim to be their homes, for so long. Is it the fear of finding something worse, or the loss of hope through bitter experiences, or just lack of initiative and drive?
If you think about the concept in its entirety, ‘home’ is the constant in a mans ever changing life. Man resists change, and if he can’t resist the change, he can always go back home,to familiarity, to the illusion of safety, to love, at least that’s what they call it.
If man didn’t have a home, if man went with the flow of the tide, he would be in the midst of constant change. But it is familiarity we seek, to help build trust, to help build a comfortable wall to help get away from change.
Hence even, the concept of family.
Family was created to help provide a support system amongst those who are compatible and are familiar enough to be comfortable. It is in this comfort that we seek solace, hide and believe that we will find order in this chaos we called life.
So what is home? A concept? A physical location? Or a cheat code to live?!