Friday, April 8, 2011


I feel that I was meant for something else. Something better, maybe. Something bigger, definitely. But I'm stuck here, and I don't know how to reach that place I'm supposed to be.

How can I explain that no place feels like home? We all feel we have a home, a safe niche in the world where we can relax, unload our problems, and be who we truly are without fear of judgement or hate. But the house I've lived in almost all my life does not feel like home. It's a house which is just a house, and yes, there are memories there, but none happy. I don't laugh here. I get irritated, angry, caged, none of which is healthy.

Out in the world, I feel safer, freer, and yet, that is not home either. There is always a forcefulness and an awkwardness which makes me try to be someone other than who I am. I'd like to say that it makes me want to be better, but it doesn't, and I am not. I feel that I blend into the walls and I try harder to be amusing to compensate for that feeling. Somehow, I think that it makes me look like a fool, not someone who could be admired or liked. Maybe it's because I don't know who I am. Maybe that's because I've never had the security to just be myself, thus having had no opportunity to find out. But I can say one thing: there isn't anybody in the world who would put themselves on the line for me; no one would defend me if I needed defending, and no one would fight for me if I was too tired to lift my head. I feel sometimes that I am dead centre on the stage, but there is no light, no sound, and the only person in the audience is looking somewhere else, totally unaware of my existence. But I know I'm there, and I want to be known, and I want so bad to raise my voice, get the spotlight turned on and then trained on me while I stand there and make a difference to the space, to my life, to that one audience member's life.

So I can't be with people, that much I'll admit. I'm always trying to fill some other skin for them to be able to accept me. But though I'm more comfortable by myself sometimes, I cannot live my life completely on the fringes either. And I know it's an idealistic fantasy to think that I will meet one person who will change all that, yet I cannot help but believe, somewhere in my heart, beneath layers and layers of logic and cynicism that this will happen. This is the point where I've realised yet again that trying to fill some other person's expectations of me isn't enough, and at the same time, being myself when I'm alone isn't enough either. But I can't trust that they won't hurt me, nor that they will accept me for everything I am, nor can I expect to be happy when I sit alone between four walls, starting at a computer screen, or lost in the pages of a book, where everyone has a happy ending, or at least, moments of pure joy.

I've set so much store by the one person I seem to be waiting for, that I actually feel sorry for them for when they do come into my life. I'm going to offload all my problems to them and hope that they can make it better, and I know that's not the right thing to do. They are, in my head, the magical solution to cure my loneliness, my awkwardness, and will help me find myself and my place in the world. And if things happen for a reason, maybe that's the reason this person hasn't happened yet. Maybe I have to learn to be on my own first, and truly appreciate what it is to hold my own without the help of others, and only then will I find the person I've been looking for, because only then will I not take them for granted and tell them all my problems. To be a realist here, things don't happen the way you want them to. Life sucks and the only things we're able to do is make it better or worse for ourselves. I want this unknown person to make it all better, but I know that it's not up to them; it's up to me. But it would be nice to know that someone would be there and love me unconditionally while I go through the transit to find myself, even if they're not there at the end of it. Does such a person even exist? Maybe they'll be that one person in the audience when I finally find my voice, the one person who hears me when I sing. And maybe, after that, after all the struggle, I'll actually be able to find home. That's all I ever wanted anyway.

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