Finally, a home.
A place where silence speaks more than the crowd, and escapism is found within and not outside anymore.
“One day, I would gaze at that beautiful sky from a balcony of the place I could finally call home — a favourite spot just for me.”
I remember writing those words, not knowing when or how that “one day” would come. It felt like a dream, something I could have only imagined, something so far out of reach. Yet, here I am now, in this peaceful, quiet place, gazing at that very sky, feeling the weight of the world finally, slightly, lifted off my shoulders.
It’s late, and the house is still, and the city below is a soft hum of my life. The hustle and bustle feel distant here, with no noise or messy distractions. The restfulness is almost surreal, but it’s exactly what I’ve been longing for. I stand here, unwrapping the last things in my mind I’ve brought with me from one temporary space to another.
At this point, I guess I’m used to the hassle of packing and moving, almost already a nomad. Moving the truck is long gone, and I’m alone with the remnants of my old life right at this very moment I pen this down, the boxes filled with memories of many years and things that shuffled from one couch to another. As I unwrapped the bubble wrap on my ceramic kitchenware, something suddenly made me pause the moment. Me and Ali packed these things exactly one year ago.
I remember us laughing like a lot, doing a ridiculous circus of dance moves while wrapping the boxes. It was so much fun as much as I can recall. He would grow pink when I popped a bubble in the bubble wrap and pointed at him, yelling, “You farted!’ It never failed to crack me up!
We bickered over which items to keep like we were curating a museum exhibit. “Do you need this broken piece of art?” he asked. I gave him my innocent look throughout the pack-up, knowing it always gets me out of trouble, so he’d keep packing them up instead of tossing them away. It was easier for him with so little left to pack before leaving the country. One of the saddest memories was selling the furniture we’d bought together. But the Zebra Cosmic Eye painting stayed with me; he loved it for reasons I could never understand. So, I promised him I’d take it with me to my new place whenever I found one.
I always teased that I felt as though the Zebra was picturing me naked and he always chuckled. I mean seriously the eye on that painting does give me the feeling of being exposed, don’t ask me why.
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Random receipts, mismatched socks, old tickets, and love letters we wrote to each other — everything spilled out on the floor that day. By the end of each day that week, we just threw things into the boxes haphazardly and created our own ‘pack-up day’ playlist to sing along to. Even though it was messy, it was oddly satisfying. I guess it must be because sometimes, the hardest moments with someone you love are the ones that stay with you the longest.
Though, I must admit, I felt like we were just packing up my entire life into a box and sending me somewhere we knew I’d feel abandoned.
It hit me right there, that’s how long it’s been since I had a place to call my own, 1 long miserable year.
That year felt like a lifetime, months of feeling adrift, couch-surfing with nowhere to properly settle after he left the country. There were so many moments when I just wanted to escape. To run away from the emptiness, the lack of stability. Nights spent out at bars, singing at karaoke, trying to drown out the feeling that I had nowhere to belong.
Tonight, as I peel back the last of this bubble wrap, I realized, I don’t need to run anymore. I wasn’t just unwrapping boxes, I was undressing my pupal case, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. I was escaping into a home, and for the first time, I was seeing my own imaginal cells, the ones that would help me grow into something new, something more colourful.
The people here live with an ease I never thought I’d find, the kind of calm that comes with knowing you’ve found your place in the world. The quiet here is different. It’s not lonely, it’s the sense of peace that I didn’t know I needed. Would it be too much to say this is how I have rewarded myself?
This is the control I had lost all along, the ability to just be. I have a space that’s mine, and that feels enough.
The balcony outside is just as I imagined it, the sky stretched wide, the city lights twinkling below, and me, finally still. I can breathe now.
I stand here as I ponder life, gazing at this beautiful bright night sky from a place I could finally call home.
I don’t need an escape anymore. Dad, I am home.
