Tuesday, June 23, 2015

If you read this, let me know.

I have been claiming that I have a quarter life crisis.
It is way too early to declare such thing
(make it 3 years too early to be precise)
But it’s easier to call it that way.

One day I could be feeling all fine and breezy.
Like life is good.
Life is a continuum growing process.
Life is full of surprises.

Then on another different time, I’d be feeling weary and dull.
Like everything’s pointless.
Like everything doesn’t have any particular meaning.

I’m not even sure what this feeling is all about.

Most days I’d brush it aside, let is pass and slide away.
Some days I just feel like curling up inside my blanket and form myself into a gigantic burrito.

I have ideas and plans.
Chances and opportunities.
But none of it feels substantial enough for me,
as if they're mere plans with no particular meaning nor reason-to-be.

I’m still figuring it all out,
or so they say.
I have all the time in the universe to figure it all out,
or so I keep telling myself.

I feel like I’m missing something.

I wander and wonder, like it has always been.
Avoiding and hiding.
Searching and absorbing.
Questioning and observing.

Nothing fulfils my numbness nor this voidness in me.

I know I’m craving home.

A home that mutually supports my ideas and dreams.
A home that protects me from my fear.
A home where I can celebrate my progress.
A home with whom I can share a mutual understandings regarding each other's emotional and intellectual being.

A home where I can go back to,
feeling safe and genuinely, alive.

Sometimes I’m tired of wandering and wondering.
But I am nothing close to giving it all up.
That kind of tired where you just feel like going back for a bit and rest.
Recharge your emotional being before you’re ready to conquer whatever it is in your way.

I’m always up to see myself growing and learning.
But it would be nice if only I know that I have a home a can go back to.

Problem is, either I haven't found one, or I let it pass by, or, I don't know.

I don't know.

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Dear home,
Have we, by fate, happen to encountered each other?
Have I, by chance, missed you on my route of finding myself?
Have you, by choice, decided keep it all quite, not to tell me that we could be each other's home?

Dear home, if you're reading this and share my sentiment,
let me know.