“Home” was always a delusional concept. Looking back, it feels weird why I couldn’t belong to somewhere that I could call home. Being born to culturally diverse parents didn’t help much either. Throughout my growing up years I felt a nudging pain, the kind of feeling that catches you unawares, the unfulfilled urge to be accepted and fit somewhere. College taught me it’s completely fine to not feel a sense of belonging (because no one cares anyways) and after a point it didn’t matter, maybe I grew up. The nudging pain numbed with time, coming back only when I reminisced of it.
I was “happy” in my life, moving ahead swiftly and slowly, being accepting and ignorant, living in a state of utter confusion. Things were fine, way too comfortable but fate had something else in store for me. You came into my life, without any warning, without informing, catching me off guard. The child inside me wanted to take the leap of faith but the pessimistic adult was sceptical. You took care of everything, gently brushing away my doubts and insecurity, dismantling my barriers brick by brick. Holding up the mirror for me to see the darkness, the plight, the love and the light. Maybe all the question marks were meant to be replaced by semicolons as you hugged me.
Thank you for introducing me to a happiness that I never knew existed and maybe wouldn’t have known if it hadn’t been for you. Now, I know how it is to love and be loved selflessly. A kind of love that warms my heart even in the coldest of days. A kind of love that assures me that no matter what your comforting arms will always find me. A kind of love that lights my path as I walk through the darkest of forests. Finally, a sense of belonging engulfs me and I can say that I have found my home.
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