My heart is beating so fast, it seems it will shatter into billion little pieces setting my soul free. I want to cry, laugh, run and lose myself in this drowning emotion. I want to go home.
I remember hearing a soldier talk about his deployment and that never-ending longing of going home, that tortured and comforted him at the same time. He was quiet for a moment.
Letters, dreams, stories of the one who's loyally waiting for you. Then you come back and wonder where is that place you were fondly treasuring in your heart for so long. You drink with people who no longer know you, meet the one who's been seeing another man, and sadly realize that home is not there. Where is it though?
With all the moving I've done for the last 5 years, I thought home was the place where you currently sleep and keep your stuff. Now home is somewhere with your loved ones. But what if it's not just a place? What if your loved ones are scattered like little ants across the whole world? What if that sacred place, home, does not even exist? Or is only there in your mind?
Just like that soldier, I often think of home, visiting my aged relatives from Russia and long-forgotten dear friends from Ukraine. I miss people. People who understand, who remember, wait and love. Sometimes I look back and realize I can only hope that it's real. People sure are busy. They have their lives, their own problems to take care of, their petty failures to worry about. They change, they age, they die...and you are not there.
Sometimes I want to say this to so many important people in my life, who...well to be honest, aren't actually so much in my life any more, more so in my head. I want to say that I miss them. Say it boldly and loudly, whisper it, not say anything at all, let them feel it. I want to sit late at night in the kitchen and talk about life. I want to tell them all about my stupid worries and feel their arms around my shoulders, I want to hear their sad and funny stories of everyday life. I want to cry with them and together hope that tomorrow will be better.
I want to go home.
My dad bombards me with emails at least 3 times a week. I rarely reply. He once asked if I mind that he's writing so much. For a moment I couldn't say a word. I know too well how it is when you want to write someone even if they don't respond.
If it's not too forward... Why don't you talk to your dad? Why don't you respond?
ReplyDeleteNo, it's alright to ask. I'm determined to be very open and honest here..as long as it doesn't involve any specifics.
ReplyDeleteMy relationship with my dad became very complicated once he, my husband and I started working together on our family business. For quite a while I had a hard time talking to my dad after some bumps with the business and lots of misunderstanding. It just got very ugly at some point, now we don't work together and relationship is getting better. I will probably write a post about it, have a lot on my mind connected to the topic.