That feeling of being at home

©MCD

There is a serenity in finding a place you can call home. Because no matter how many buses, trains, airplanes you need to get there, it is all worth the tiredness when you finally reach it. It is a place you hold dear in your heart because you know it will always welcome you back, no matter how far you go or how long it takes for you to return.

It is even greater if you have friends who will always be waiting for you and who will get out of their way to make you feel like home, because that is exactly where you feel you are. A family is one that extends beyond blood ties. And those friends who are geographically distant from you are sometimes the ones who are the closest. You will talk for hours about everything and always be up to date with each others’ lives. They will always have some wise advice to share and that optimism that everything will be all right and life will find its way to give you want you deserve.

There are places that mark our lives. Places where we wished we could live forever, as long or short a period that word connotes. There are places that don’t really change with time, but that is perfectly OK with us because you don’t want them to change (only if it is for the better). There are places other people tell you they visited on a travel streak and you are proud to say, ‘I know it, I lived there, it is like home’.

There are places where no matter your absence, whenever you return, you know exactly where everything is and where to go, where the hidden gems are, and where to find the best views. As if coming back home.

And if you are lucky enough to find such a place with friends who have become family, you are blessed with having a home away from home, one that will offer you peace and tranquillity, a place to crash (literally and metaphorically) and the strength to regroup yourself so you can return to ‘normality’ stronger and more optimistic.

Advertisement

The box office event

©Ted Strutz

She had been waiting for the show for weeks. It set a box office record wherever it performed. She had told him and he had excitedly agreed to go. After all, he couldn’t refuse something that got her so happy that she couldn’t stop blabbing while bouncing around happily.

A few days earlier, she awoke by a nightmare. He consoled her, wrapping her in his arms until she fell back asleep.

But then, a peculiar thing happened. Her fear had diffused into him. Unjustifiably and inexplicably.

It was when they were already seated that it happened. And it was life-changing.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

What you see is often what you actually get

“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction” – it’s Newton’s Third Law of Physics. Or put plainly: whatever you give out will come back to you.

Wouldn’t that be great if it were true? If all the attention, effort and emotion you put into your relationships, your work, your life in general, was reciprocated? If the people you were there for when they needed you, would also run to your side when difficulty hit your door?

We don’t always get what we deserve. No matter how much we try or appeal for it. Some things are beyond our control, and although it’s hard to swallow, we need to accept that we are not always responsible for the way people behave or even treat us. It’s a matter of character, of mentality, of experiences, of upbringing; of a series of factors we have no effect over.

What we can do is stop putting ourselves out there for people who won’t do the same for us. Because, usually, when people show you they don’t care, it’s because they probably really don’t. You need to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and regain the strength you had before all the emotion got to your brain. Sometimes we need to behave more rationally than emotionally for our own mental health and wellbeing.

You reach a point at times when you realise there is no use in putting others before your own self. In the end, you’re most likely the only one who does.  And you simply end up losing yourself in the process.

The hustle and bustle of sincerity

©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sit there and wait. Observe. That hustle and bustle that is so characteristic of airports. That feeling of restlessness, anticipation and anguish. Imagine the stories, of where others are coming from and heading to. And the knowing that you too will soon be at some other part of the world.

But more than anything, realise that airports see the most sincere feelings: people reunited, running into each other at high speed, kissing and crying, recounting stories the mouth can’t tell fast enough, eyes that are struggling to take in all the charge, the hugging, and the end of missing someone.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Box of Memories

Three words. Four sides. A lifetime. A box, however big or small, is used to store things you don’t want to throw away, yet don’t want them in plain sight. The box we most cherish is the one that holds our memories. Some keep it inside their head. In that special place with all the thoughts they love to bring to mind. Others have a physical container filled with memorabilia from times that were too special for them to ever forget.

Each memory box is unique for every person who has one. Because not everyone has the same perception of the things that matter. Some people are overly sensitive, saving theatre tickets, beer caps, hand-written notes, printed photos, even dried-up flowers. They are things that encase more than a simple memory; a feeling that is worth remembering. Because it was at that time when they felt serene, loved and happy. When they believed that ‘forever’ is more than just wishful thinking but rather a word that could gain the meaning they want if they try hard enough.

Others have boxes with fewer things: books, music, photo frames, souvenirs, even clothes. More practical entities of what a memory entails.

But all have something in common: the memories we create are the feelings that make us stronger, more optimistic and resilient. They are proof that happiness does exist and will last as long as you are willing to nourish it.

No matter how many boxes of memories we create, we must all believe in the beauty of a happy ending. And the fact that we each deserve one.

The bleeding of a pen

People who write share a secret. They know how to view the world in different lenses. They think too much, overanalyse, create scenarios that may hardly correspond to reality, and feel too deeply. They have a vivid and often wild imagination. But often, that is exactly what helps them survive.

The best part about meeting other authors, is that you realise you are not alone in your weirdness. Authors are exquisite people. They shine a light on aspects you never thought of before someone pointed them out to you.

They are the ones who put words on a page, coherent ones, linked together and invite you to form the images in your head. Every book is just that. But every reader has a different playout created in their mind. And that is precisely the magic a pen can fashion.

Writers are not as competitive as people of other professions are. They will urge you to write. They will inspire you. To believe that you can do it; that you can accomplish whatever you imagine. Because they know what it feels like to sit alone in front of a screen, fighting with and for words. They have gone through the anguish of trying to promote their work for the masterpiece they believe it is. They have faced their demons of fear, of not being good enough. And they understand. They know that you need to write something first to come to believe that you can actually achieve your goals.

The best thing about meeting a writer is that you gain an insight on why and how they write. Sometimes the reason is the simple fact that they were bored and wrote a book. Other times it is because they wanted to say something. They want to make readers think, to enter a world that is unknown; to escape a reality that is sometimes better than we imagine if only we see it in a positive light. But every writer wants something they never admit: to make the reader feel they are not alone.

A book is the best company you can have. Because it opens up worlds you never knew existed and expands your mind more than anything else ever can.

White Ideal

©MCD

You don’t need to call him. He comes on his own when he sees you.

You don’t need to tell him. He feels you in your silence.

You don’t need to ask him for attention. He provides it willingly.

The comfort of feeling his heartbeat sync with yours. Of his gaze staring in your eyes. Of his warmth brush up against you.

He is white. Not as snow. But as a fluffy cotton ball.

With patches of grey so you can spot him in the snow.

With green eyes that glisten in the sunlight.

He doesn’t speak a lot. He doesn’t need to. Because he is the type who doesn’t need words or sounds to communicate.

He has a heart bigger than you can imagine. Because no matter how much you push him away, he always comes back as if you never revoked him. And he wants to share his hugs, his love, his warmth. Because he might seem naïve, but he still thinks everyone he meets is as nice and loving as him.

We would all be so lucky to have such people in our lives.

Shame that such traits can only be found in a cat, though.

Subjective Idyll

Turquoise blue, crystal clear waters

White sand spreading beneath you like a carpet

Yellow-orange-red sunsets spanning a cloudless sky

Tranquillity, calm and serenity

The sound of waves embracing the shore

A light breeze clashing against your sun-kissed face

A wooden cottage-retreat with an endless view

A drive up the scenic mountains         

A walk into evergreen forests

Rafting down current

Hiking up a famous trail

Snowflakes on your icy-cold red nose

A snowman you brought to life

Idyll only has the significance you grant it.

Also part of Weekend Writing Prompt

The place we call home

©Ceayr

Home is where you feel safe.

It is the place where no matter how broken you are, you feel whole. As if all the pieces come together and are mended, even if only for a while.

It is the people who lift you up when you fall. Who are there to catch you when your wings are too soar to fly.

It is the love you receive from those who can hear your silence, who can feel your heart, even when you don’t say a word.

Home is something beyond a simple place.

It is an extension of your soul.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Cat-like

Women are like cats. They like attention but not too much and on their terms, are independent and self-sustainable, move around a room like they own it, like to sleep as much as possible, like to cuddle but only when they want to, and can disappear for hours doing their own thing with no-one really knowing what that is.

Women are like cats in that they can claw their way out of a fight, just as easily as they can start one.

But most of all, they are like cats in the sense that they can reciprocate the love you show them and be the source of your serenity.

Charity was the most cat-like girl Jessop had ever met. He could almost swear to hear her purr when she fell asleep in his arms. She fought for her autonomy and demonstrated that she could handle her affairs on her own. But every now and again she would crawl to his side and press into his chest for a tight hug, something that would make all the troubles she didn’t share just go away.

Jessop liked that she was dynamic and feisty. But he loved it more when she became the vulnerable, chirpy girl he fell in love with. After all, every man adores being the protector of his girl.

But over the past weeks, something happened. It was as if the cat inside her curled up and hid from the world. She wouldn’t talk much, her smile had faded and she barely ate. She wouldn’t respond to his questions, even getting agitated by them and would retreat to her bed, sleeping more than the usual hours.

One morning, Jessop woke up to find a note on his bedstand:

“If I show you I need you, take it seriously. It means more than just the words you understand. I do whatever I can to never have to depend on anyone, to avoid showing weakness and fear. But if I tell you I need you by my side, it means I am trusting you to catch me when I fall”.

The note was stained with droplets of tears.

Jessop sprung out of bed, got dressed and left.

He knew where she was. Cats always have a safe place. Somewhere they think no-one knows about, but if you follow them closely they’ll let you find them.