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Tinker-bell
Poems1
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Some people think a home is your original country where you first scratched your knees and where you first built sandcastles or where you first threw snowballs. Some think it's where your parents have travelled to or where they have owned their first house or perhaps where one’s younger siblings went to school. Home to me, however, is a wild concept. It's not here where I have stayed for a while but it’s not there either. It's not where I first made snow angels but it's not where I first star gazed either. It's not my nationality or my Canadian passport. To me, Home is a weird concept. Weird because although I have visited so many places and I have lived amidst so many cultures, my heart is still not at peace- instead, it keeps sinking lower and feeling more and more heavy - and my thoughts they are as fast as they have ever been. In the deepest corners of my mind, I vaguely remember one night climbing slowly out of bed in a strange city for the first time. Slipping out of the pyjamas and into the ripped jeans. Getting out of the messy bun and letting my hair cover my face and protect my ears. I remember escaping the large shirt and grasping a larger one. And finally putting on the Timbs and the same old shiny velvet coat.        I remember opening the door ever so slowly and slipping out but breathing only after I was across the street. Walking towards nowhere and with no place in mind. I remember attempting to find Times Square. Attempting to figure out the way. Standing in a large crowd that swallowed me while I stood struck by the lack of order and the lack of structure in the way they moved.        And that was the first time that I have ever stopped trying to find myself in the crowd and that was also the first time I haven't gotten lost trying to find myself. I remember vaguely what happened that night. I remember the rose I got and the Chihuahua that followed for two blocks. I remember coming back after watching the sunrise. I remember slipping back into the same PJs and out of the shiny velvet coat. But what  I remember the most is how in tune I felt. The warm slow thoughts I had that merged with clouded lines between the present and the subconscious. I remember the peaceful state I was in. And now a couple years later on another weekday and during another 3 AM over thinking session, I feel the same weary feeling that I had since the day I had to move away from that amazing city. One that allowed my imagination to run wild and my thoughts to feel ever so small and my existence ever so little.         So here is a message.         A message from the 17-year-old me.         Darling, you're at home when you realize and acknowledge that life is beyond you yet your own life is all about you. It is when you accept that moving forward is leaving so much behind. It is when you realize that it is okay to wake up one day and give up on who you are and decide to walk into the bathroom, grab the scissors, and change your Rapunzel-length hair to a Mom Bob and go from skirts and dresses to baggy hoodies and live your teens next to plushies and to forever, forever, and forever prefer books and mugs over people and company.         My 14-year-old self you have grown a lot and my future 18-year-old self you will grow more. Smile and work towards your happiness and in doing so you will indeed feel in tune, you will indeed feel complete and you will indeed feel happy and above all, you will feel accomplished.        And so, my favourite lesson of this one trial lifetime is that I shall build the foundation of my wellbeing and of my own happiness on me and me only - for there is no one, no one, in this world that deserves to hold that honour but me. Fitting into the bigger puzzle means fitting my own pieces together.
0
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 1:05 AM UTC
Tinker-bell
A Letter by Me to Me
Some people think a home is your original country where you first scratched your knees and where you first built sandcastles or where you first threw snowballs. Some think it's where your parents have travelled to or where they have owned their first house or perhaps where one’s younger siblings went to school. Home to me, however, is a wild concept. It's not here where I have stayed for a while but it’s not there either. It's not where I first made snow angels but it's not where I first star gazed either. It's not my nationality or my Canadian passport. To me, Home is a weird concept. Weird because although I have visited so many places and I have lived amidst so many cultures, my heart is still not at peace- instead, it keeps sinking lower and feeling more and more heavy - and my thoughts they are as fast as they have ever been. In the deepest corners of my mind, I vaguely remember one night climbing slowly out of bed in a strange city for the first time. Slipping out of the pyjamas and into the ripped jeans. Getting out of the messy bun and letting my hair cover my face and protect my ears. I remember escaping the large shirt and grasping a larger one. And finally putting on the Timbs and the same old shiny velvet coat.        I remember opening the door ever so slowly and slipping out but breathing only after I was across the street. Walking towards nowhere and with no place in mind. I remember attempting to find Times Square. Attempting to figure out the way. Standing in a large crowd that swallowed me while I stood struck by the lack of order and the lack of structure in the way they moved.        And that was the first time that I have ever stopped trying to find myself in the crowd and that was also the first time I haven't gotten lost trying to find myself. I remember vaguely what happened that night. I remember the rose I got and the Chihuahua that followed for two blocks. I remember coming back after watching the sunrise. I remember slipping back into the same PJs and out of the shiny velvet coat. But what  I remember the most is how in tune I felt. The warm slow thoughts I had that merged with clouded lines between the present and the subconscious. I remember the peaceful state I was in. And now a couple years later on another weekday and during another 3 AM over thinking session, I feel the same weary feeling that I had since the day I had to move away from that amazing city. One that allowed my imagination to run wild and my thoughts to feel ever so small and my existence ever so little.         So here is a message.         A message from the 17-year-old me.         Darling, you're at home when you realize and acknowledge that life is beyond you yet your own life is all about you. It is when you accept that moving forward is leaving so much behind. It is when you realize that it is okay to wake up one day and give up on who you are and decide to walk into the bathroom, grab the scissors, and change your Rapunzel-length hair to a Mom Bob and go from skirts and dresses to baggy hoodies and live your teens next to plushies and to forever, forever, and forever prefer books and mugs over people and company.         My 14-year-old self you have grown a lot and my future 18-year-old self you will grow more. Smile and work towards your happiness and in doing so you will indeed feel in tune, you will indeed feel complete and you will indeed feel happy and above all, you will feel accomplished.        And so, my favourite lesson of this one trial lifetime is that I shall build the foundation of my wellbeing and of my own happiness on me and me only - for there is no one, no one, in this world that deserves to hold that honour but me. Fitting into the bigger puzzle means fitting my own pieces together.
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