Home, yet a mystery.

Is it a place I visited ages ago that still holds a special place in my heart? Is it a place surrounded by a certain group of people who made me feel like I belong? That feeling when they took me in as one of their own.

Or is it somewhere between those glimpses when I saw my parents’ faces light up with pride even though I had done nothing particularly exceptional? I could see how happy they were every time they hugged me. Those emotions in receiving their forgiveness to taking those little steps toward fulfilling their dreams.

Is it someone who inspires me to pursue my goals and become the best version of myself? Is it the same person who stood by my side when I lost myself along the way in this wild world? Is it who taught me to keep reminding myself that the clouds will pass and the sun will shine again at the end of the day?

Was that home?

That house where I grew up, the space between those four walls where I first sobbed for god knows what dumb reasons, that room which still holds my first smile, first laughter and those whispers that walked with me throughout my childhood, I remember it well. 

Is that supposed to be the home to my soul?

Home! Is it a feeling that makes one feel alive? Is it an enclosed place made of bricks and memories that bring you solace?

Is it a group of people who give you a sense of belonging in a world shadowing loneliness?

Or perhaps home just smells like an eternity, those specks of ashes in the urn.

No wonder I haven’t found my home yet!