Going back, calmer and more cautious than ever before. Previously, I had never been nostalgic, but in my so-called first home nothing was mine. I had nothing to miss, nothing to be nostalgic for. You can imagine that being broke, in a job you cannot stand and living a life you that you don’t necessarily want would make you dream of anywhere else.
A charge I am equally guilty of is not appreciating where I call home. Make no mistake, home doesn’t have to be the town or the house where you were born. Home is where you feel the safest, the most comfortable, and more importantly, it has to be yours. Every now and then being dragged back to my “first home” makes me feel many different emotions. I wish I could say that any of them were happy ones. Memories of happier and simpler times flicker in the back of my mind, but the main slide in the projector is a deep feeling of detachment and separation – from the people, the way of life and most importantly myself. I noticeably can’t act myself here.
Where I call home is a crappy one-bedroom apartment. One of my cabinet doors in the kitchen is currently sitting to the side of the fridge, forgotten in its concealed nook, unintentionally creating an open, almost modern, hippy look of exposed dishes stacked in no specific order. Squirrels and rats control and take ownership of my air vents, and in the entry way there is linoleum tile covered in dirt and leaves leading to a steep flight of stairs equally covered in debris. Black almost charcoal looking streaks cover the walls and posters that I’ve hung with colored duct tape will sporadically fall on your head. Two chairs in the living room, a mattress on the floor in the bedroom, a three mile walk to work every day, and a mile and a half hike to the store complete what I call home.
When I first moved in there was me, a plate, a cup, a fork, and a duffle bag with clothes. Not a lot of clothes either. I sat on the floor my first night alone, tears beginning to run down my face at how stupid I was for making such a rash decision based only on love and no actual cognition. Two days ago I would’ve told you that I don’t care about that crappy one bedroom apartment, but everyday we get wiser, and every day we are able to look back at the mistakes of yesterday. I always thought I never had a home, but I was wrong. My home is that crappy one bedroom apartment. They say ‘home is where the heart is’, to me that means home is where the heart stays.