Post by Brokenhearts on Sept 6, 2006 7:01:05 GMT -5
i posted this on the old boards- but hey
Home
Home is where the heart is… what a laugh. Your heart is in your chest- inside you. But I guess they mean where you feel safe and secure, and where you are calm and collect… where you feel that you belong.
Most people have that. Most people know where their home is. It’s not nessicarily where they go to sleep at night, or where they spend the majority of their time. But they still know where their home is.
I don’t. I don’t have the luxury of being to sleep at night, and not worry about where I belong. It’s one of the things that haunt me: where do I belong? Will I find it? Does it even exist?! These questions float around my consious mind before a drift off to sleep, always making me wander about it in my dreams.
It’s easier for people who have been born and bred in one place. They were born there, they grew up there, all their friends and family are there, and they die there. There are some who stay within the same country of their origin, they are more likely to know where their home is- even if when they are older they move some where else. They will still know where they can go where they feel at home.
For some one likes me… for some one who is from two places at a minimum, those places being on opposite sides of the globe. From someone who was born in one country, then shifted to another at a very young age. For someone who lives in a society where the most obvious of you origins are looked down on and out cast. For someone who has had to leave the place where they have just settled down- every two years or so. For someone who has to adapt to their new environment as quickly as possible, so they can make friends faster than usual, and still keep their confidence. For someone like that, it is much harder to know where their home is. For someone like that, it’s nearly impossible. For a person like that, a person like me, it is never certain where you will find your home, or if you have even found it yet.
Yet it is not just the moving around, and not making proper solid friends, until recently anyway, it is the fact that I have influences mostly from the Eastern side of my family, though living in a very Western society. I have to put up with racist comments in the streets, being called names and being put down for three years solid in school. I have to make comprmises between both cultures, as I am a micture between the two- the most prominant one being Eastern. I have to act according to many of the rules. Most of the time I like it, it’s fun, and it’s different to the norm of the country. Other’s i can’t stand it, being looked down on by uncles and aunts, who think that I am a failiure because of my music, and my dress sense, and some times even my friends.
All this does not help me to find where I am most comfortable. Where I feel most safe, and happy and secure.
But there are still some places where they feel like almost home. The cloest thing I will get to Home, and the places which I love.
I love London, with all it’s noises, it’s traffic, it’s sirens going off at odd hours, and drunkards going past my window at night yelling obscenities as loud as they can. I love the lights, the sounds, the smells, the action, the people. The people are much more accepting of you. I can no long sleep at light with out being able to hear the cars go past my window. If it is quiet, it is deadly quiet to me, and I cannot sleep with out the noise. I love the places, the history, the touristy places, and the down town, more often than not, shifty markets. I love the sights, I love bing able to stand on top of a hill, a very high one mind, annd being able to look out across the city. Especially at night, when the lights are on, and everything is luminated, and everything is able to be seen. I can think, this is London, my London, the place that adopted meas it’s own, and does not care for what I look like, what my back ground it, or my history. My London that accepts me for who I am.
I love Middleton. A coast in south Australia, with the beaches of Victor Harbour, Hoarse Shoe bay, and Ladies beach. There is a little shack right next to the Ocean near Victor harbour that we always go to. At night the wind howls past like a yelping wolf, or whispers like a lovers murmer in your ear, sending you to sleep with the ease of a mother. The sound of the waves lapping on the beach, the slight swish swosh that you can hear like a mermaid’s layler-by, singing you softly to sleep from deep within her watery home. The dark there is so dark, you cannot piece is with flame. It is so peaceful, and the only quiet place on Earth where I do feel like I can get a good rest, and still feel safe about it. During the day, the people are friendly, talking to you randomly, calling greetings to you and their friends. You can feel the soft sand between your toes, and the sea so warm it is like a bath. This place is still so quiet and calm, though it should be the most touristy place in South Australia, it is the least and still holds it’s olden charm of welcoming everyone with it’s open arms. This was where I was born, this was where I took my first steps to swim at the age of ten months- a month before I could walk. This is the place where many of my childhood and family memories take place. This is the place that will always be held close to my heart.
The mountains in Pakistan too are like my home. I guess I feel the closeness of them, because I am Pataan, and all pataans are from the moutains boardering Pakistan to Afghanistan. The mountains are high, and the roads are rural tough, hostile, and very dangerous. Yet when ever we go to pakistan, we put our lives on the line by going up them with our cars filled with more than the leagal amount of people. We put our trust fully into the mountains, hoping that they would be kind to us. We are of their people, so we always are. They are majestic, high, rugged, rough, dangerous, trecherous, beautiful, and serene all at the same time. It may be deadly quiet at night on the out side, but on the inside, with all the people, all the people being so close to each other, talking till late in the evening and more often than not large quantities of people sharing one largish room, I feel settled and safe. The mountains is where I feel at peace with myself, and with my environment. Where I don’t need tv, or computers, or anything else to keep me occupied. Climbing the mountains makes me feel safe, and happy, and relaxed. Looking out across them, across my birth right, across the place which is almost close enough to be able to be called my home, I feel secure with my self, and accepted as one of the people. Though I do not fully speak the language, I have anyways been able to understand tham, though they speak no English, I have always been understood by them. Being able to feel all that and being understood in it all, makes these mountains so close to my heart, it could almost be called my home.
But these is still something missing. Some missing inside me when I go there. When I am in these places. They are not my home, but they are the closest thing to it. As soon as I find that place that I can call home I will be able to feel calmer, and surer about my self. I do not have to live there, or stay there always, but I will be better about myself and those around me. I will not feel so lost.
Until then, I will continue to feel safe when I go vist Australia or Pkaistan (my places of origin). I will continue to be felt mostly accept by Central London as a whole. And I will keep searching for my home.
Home
Home is where the heart is… what a laugh. Your heart is in your chest- inside you. But I guess they mean where you feel safe and secure, and where you are calm and collect… where you feel that you belong.
Most people have that. Most people know where their home is. It’s not nessicarily where they go to sleep at night, or where they spend the majority of their time. But they still know where their home is.
I don’t. I don’t have the luxury of being to sleep at night, and not worry about where I belong. It’s one of the things that haunt me: where do I belong? Will I find it? Does it even exist?! These questions float around my consious mind before a drift off to sleep, always making me wander about it in my dreams.
It’s easier for people who have been born and bred in one place. They were born there, they grew up there, all their friends and family are there, and they die there. There are some who stay within the same country of their origin, they are more likely to know where their home is- even if when they are older they move some where else. They will still know where they can go where they feel at home.
For some one likes me… for some one who is from two places at a minimum, those places being on opposite sides of the globe. From someone who was born in one country, then shifted to another at a very young age. For someone who lives in a society where the most obvious of you origins are looked down on and out cast. For someone who has had to leave the place where they have just settled down- every two years or so. For someone who has to adapt to their new environment as quickly as possible, so they can make friends faster than usual, and still keep their confidence. For someone like that, it is much harder to know where their home is. For someone like that, it’s nearly impossible. For a person like that, a person like me, it is never certain where you will find your home, or if you have even found it yet.
Yet it is not just the moving around, and not making proper solid friends, until recently anyway, it is the fact that I have influences mostly from the Eastern side of my family, though living in a very Western society. I have to put up with racist comments in the streets, being called names and being put down for three years solid in school. I have to make comprmises between both cultures, as I am a micture between the two- the most prominant one being Eastern. I have to act according to many of the rules. Most of the time I like it, it’s fun, and it’s different to the norm of the country. Other’s i can’t stand it, being looked down on by uncles and aunts, who think that I am a failiure because of my music, and my dress sense, and some times even my friends.
All this does not help me to find where I am most comfortable. Where I feel most safe, and happy and secure.
But there are still some places where they feel like almost home. The cloest thing I will get to Home, and the places which I love.
I love London, with all it’s noises, it’s traffic, it’s sirens going off at odd hours, and drunkards going past my window at night yelling obscenities as loud as they can. I love the lights, the sounds, the smells, the action, the people. The people are much more accepting of you. I can no long sleep at light with out being able to hear the cars go past my window. If it is quiet, it is deadly quiet to me, and I cannot sleep with out the noise. I love the places, the history, the touristy places, and the down town, more often than not, shifty markets. I love the sights, I love bing able to stand on top of a hill, a very high one mind, annd being able to look out across the city. Especially at night, when the lights are on, and everything is luminated, and everything is able to be seen. I can think, this is London, my London, the place that adopted meas it’s own, and does not care for what I look like, what my back ground it, or my history. My London that accepts me for who I am.
I love Middleton. A coast in south Australia, with the beaches of Victor Harbour, Hoarse Shoe bay, and Ladies beach. There is a little shack right next to the Ocean near Victor harbour that we always go to. At night the wind howls past like a yelping wolf, or whispers like a lovers murmer in your ear, sending you to sleep with the ease of a mother. The sound of the waves lapping on the beach, the slight swish swosh that you can hear like a mermaid’s layler-by, singing you softly to sleep from deep within her watery home. The dark there is so dark, you cannot piece is with flame. It is so peaceful, and the only quiet place on Earth where I do feel like I can get a good rest, and still feel safe about it. During the day, the people are friendly, talking to you randomly, calling greetings to you and their friends. You can feel the soft sand between your toes, and the sea so warm it is like a bath. This place is still so quiet and calm, though it should be the most touristy place in South Australia, it is the least and still holds it’s olden charm of welcoming everyone with it’s open arms. This was where I was born, this was where I took my first steps to swim at the age of ten months- a month before I could walk. This is the place where many of my childhood and family memories take place. This is the place that will always be held close to my heart.
The mountains in Pakistan too are like my home. I guess I feel the closeness of them, because I am Pataan, and all pataans are from the moutains boardering Pakistan to Afghanistan. The mountains are high, and the roads are rural tough, hostile, and very dangerous. Yet when ever we go to pakistan, we put our lives on the line by going up them with our cars filled with more than the leagal amount of people. We put our trust fully into the mountains, hoping that they would be kind to us. We are of their people, so we always are. They are majestic, high, rugged, rough, dangerous, trecherous, beautiful, and serene all at the same time. It may be deadly quiet at night on the out side, but on the inside, with all the people, all the people being so close to each other, talking till late in the evening and more often than not large quantities of people sharing one largish room, I feel settled and safe. The mountains is where I feel at peace with myself, and with my environment. Where I don’t need tv, or computers, or anything else to keep me occupied. Climbing the mountains makes me feel safe, and happy, and relaxed. Looking out across them, across my birth right, across the place which is almost close enough to be able to be called my home, I feel secure with my self, and accepted as one of the people. Though I do not fully speak the language, I have anyways been able to understand tham, though they speak no English, I have always been understood by them. Being able to feel all that and being understood in it all, makes these mountains so close to my heart, it could almost be called my home.
But these is still something missing. Some missing inside me when I go there. When I am in these places. They are not my home, but they are the closest thing to it. As soon as I find that place that I can call home I will be able to feel calmer, and surer about my self. I do not have to live there, or stay there always, but I will be better about myself and those around me. I will not feel so lost.
Until then, I will continue to feel safe when I go vist Australia or Pkaistan (my places of origin). I will continue to be felt mostly accept by Central London as a whole. And I will keep searching for my home.