I'm sitting in my bedroom, on the same two pillows I've sat on for far too many years, and I'm thinking of what home is, what home means to me. Oh, before I forget, Bill Withers' song "I Can't Write Left-Handed" just started playing on my Spotify too, this might be a good night, well, less the miserable heat that's somehow finding its way through this upstairs window.
They say, "Home is where the heart is" and I have yet to Google who said this originally. Over the course of the last say twenty five years or so, I feel as though my heart has been in many places, many homes; a vagabond heart with a hermit crab mentality if that makes sense.
Some of my favorite places have been stumbled upon without any planning or real effort; these are places where I could feasibly bury my beating heart, troubles, and fears for some time without anyone ever finding them neatly tucked away. There's something about having a home which others cannot affect, a heart that others cannot influence or hurt.
I have friend who refers to their heart as being empty/hallow, I have another friend who says that they have a black heart which doesn't beat. As I sit here, all I can think of is the shape my heart is in and where it calls home.
The sky in the above picture looks pretty damn amazing doesn't it? I always think it strange when I don't try to capture a moment and so many stories are produced from simply decompressing the shutter button.
My want is to see as much of the world as possible and whilst on adventures, I want to take in as much of the environment as I can within wherever I find myself standing. I've found myself lost, my heart that is, within countries such as Ireland, Paris, Austria, Switzerland, Finland, and more. The sheer beauty of humans being humane moves me unlike any other.
I can recall my second visit to Paris, France and the amount of anxiety I had due to my lack of confidence/trust in the person I was at the time. People have always been easy for me to connect with, maybe because I'm inquisitive or maybe because I appear not guarded. IF I'm visiting your country, my want is to learn the correct ways to embrace a culture; I'm not here to do things my way and leave.
Many acquaintances of mine say things like, "The French are so rude", "The Germans are so serious", "This country is so un-hygienic" so on and so forth. After processing their statements, I often think to myself, "I wonder where they call home, where their hearts reside?", I mean I'm forever intrigued.
There are some who bury their hearts and burn their homes within others, within liking/loving/lusting. I know a young lady who took all of her emotional belongings and attempted to make a home within another person and was subsequently left homeless, metaphorically speaking. Another example would be a young man who fell for someone whom he cared about far more than he should, only to find out that her kisses, her hugs, weren't just his alone though she promised him they were; I suppose she made multiple keys and multiple suitors felt at home within "his house".
The idea of home...
The heart which beats within me, has made various homes within places, people, and things yet I feel as though said places, people, and things only make up portions of this puzzled heart. I stated earlier that there's something about having a home which others cannot affect, a heart that others cannot influence or hurt; I'm only vulnerable if you know exactly where my home is, if you have my heart within the palm of your hands.
My home is... Somewhere out there, perhaps I'll meet you there and invite you in to see the view..