A discussion on Pain and Belonging.
A place to call home, that is what I have always sought.
Somewhere to lay my head, find love, marry and become whole.
A piece of me I consider missing. Always striving to fill this void.
A place to call my own home
-where the neighbours know me.
-the local shop owners become my friends.
-and everyone, and including me, has a place to rest and come together
without occasion.
London was this for me for a short window. Yet even when not co-erced, I have had to leave my home.
I feel a sense of destruction. I sense a missing part of my character. It feels as though I am writing a character without a defining piece of who they are.
Trying to be at peace with my failures, with my errors and my character flaws, I am trying to find a renewed sense of belief into who I am – without a place I called home.
Reliance on surroundings, on people, has been my sense of identity’s downfall. My mother’s pride has fallen from grace, and with it she relies on her stature, her ‘pride’, her ‘elite’ friends, to cover this wound. I critique it but find myself in a similar place.
This hurts most of all.
Dec. 2018