Entry Nineteen
Today’s entry talks about home again, and Tommy and I's quest this year for a new place to live. The image above is of the apartment complex I first lived in when I moved to America. The first place I called home, while getting to know my parents again.
The image did need some drama, so I made it black and white, ha! I was nervous about this entry because I said similar things in my fourth newsletter. After working through this initial concern, I decided that what I needed to say, even if it was similar, was still coming from a different version of myself. We don’t need to just release content that is new and thrilling. Not to mention, since when is hearing or processing something one time enough? Why am I trying to abide by this rule? None of us need to force an impact, or assume we know how it will impact someone else.
So, while at first I felt like a broken record, I had a major release revisiting this day. Nine months later and I had a new emotional release. A joyous one, at that.
I hope you do, too.
March 8th, 2022:
I’m feeling a bit rootless. I desperately want to nest in my own home. Not someone else's. Not waiting for another person to accept us as a sublet. My life reeks of temporary. Short lived moments of security. I know this feeling. My inner child has lived this story. We moved countless times growing up. My early chapters of life begin with my parents leaving me in the middle of the night for over a year to create some sort of stability before I could join them in America. They slept in the London airport for three days waiting for family back home to send them money. Three. Days. How nearly impossible that would be today!
I’ve moved to different states twice in my life without knowing what my plan was, or only knowing my next step. It’s as if taking these leaps are in my blood. And as I connect the dots from my parents, grandparents, and beyond, I see that it is true. I think that their determination has given me courage and resilience, but I am also ready to lay that story to rest.
We lost two houses growing up because money wasn’t there. Or should I say, money was ill managed and rather than choosing honesty, lies left us in disarray. Tommy and I’s current brief stints of subletting while finding our new apartment has been grueling, but thinking about my inner child experiencing something heavier, quite frankly knocks the wind out of me. At the same time, it allows me to catch my breath and decide that I can dream and actualize something different. Please remember that you can feel and reflect on multiple things at once! You can feel disheartened and also empowered. I find that truly special.
After my parent’s first break-up (yes, one of two), they moved from home to home quite a bit. This theme continued after the grand finale of their second separation. Tommy’s family has lived in the same home and city for a long time. I always ask him, what’s that like? I am marveled at the idea of being in a room he had in high school. One central place that he and his entire family have been able to convene for decades. A gift my soul cherishes. It reveals that home is utterly precious to me in the physical and emotional sense. Its essence is also rooted in Fundamental Hunger, and I am grateful for that parallel.
There is a feeling of incompleteness when it comes to memories of home. My eyes water as I write this truth, and my body feels the pain of how I grew up wishing it was different. But there are fabulous memories too that I’ll cherish forever. Like the backyard swing set of our first home. My pop cooking special versions of my favorite Ugandan snacks for my birthday. Learning how to ride my bike and my dad lying that he was holding onto my seat because he knew I was ready to peddle on my own. The photoshoots my parents would take in the foyer on date nights, all glammed up to go dancing. My mom will never miss a photo opportunity.
It’s wonderful to know what might still need mending, but please attempt to recall what makes you smile. Just like you don’t need to disguise your pain, you don’t need to bury what was good. There is plenty more to come.
Can you relate to masking your pain, and even your bliss? Rejecting anything that could allow someone to feel pity. But what if it was never pity? What if it was actually compassion and I was too prideful and distant to notice the difference? Because if I accepted their pity, it meant I had to admit that I wasn’t okay. I used to think that if I accept that certain memories still make me sad, then I’m far away from what I consider to be paradise. But this isn’t true. This is a cycle I have been determined to shift, even when it sounds enticing. I’m proud to celebrate that it isn’t tempting enough to repeat that pattern, but life sure does show me how deep it runs. Thankfully, I have created enough evidence to know that I will always figure it out.
Even when I feel rootless, I remember that that too, is temporary. All I need to do is remember, and I find myself back home again.
Journal prompts:
What does home mean to you?
What memories can you find today that make you smile? That remind you that life can be good?
What was happening for you around March 8th? How does it feel today?
In the meantime, where can you go that feels like home?