What is home?
Is it a place where you've lived your whole life? Is it a place where you've found yourself? Is it a person? Is it a feeling? Is it not feeling sad? Is it an experience? Is it a memory?
I don't know.
I never knew what home was. I always felt lonely, unwelcomed and as a stranger in my own house. I've always felt as an outsider among my own people. I never had a friend who felt like home. I never found a place which I can call home.
I still remember those days when I moved out of my parents home to live in the dorms. That is when I started finding myself. That is when I started growing. That is when I started exploring.
But all of the excitement vanished with time. Once again everything felt like a void. I felt like I'm lost. I was helpless.
I always wanted to find my home. A home where I can be myself without the fear of judgement. A home where I can be vulnerable. A home where I can find the love and care that I deserve. A home which makes me feel like I belong in there.
I spent days and years finding the definition of home and also in finding my home.
But with time I've established my own home. I found it within myself. I became my biggest supporter. I became my biggest motivation. I became my own safe place. I became my own hand that wipes my tears. I became my own light in moments of darkness.
Still, that wasn't enough. I felt good only for a short span. But then everything came hitting me on the face. All the pain, all the sadness, all the loneliness came once again.
I am my home but I wish I could find another home where I can be as weak as I want without being judged. I wish I could find a pair of arms strong enough to hold my broken self. I wish I could find a heart big enough to accommodate mine within. I wish I could find that gaze kind enough to not turn away from my suffering.
-PARTH ❤️🩹
