May 15, 2006
Coming home can be difficult and beautiful.
Especially when 'home' itself is undefined; it is relative and changes person to person. What is a home anyway, and what constitutes the name of 'home' in a certain place? Is it the people that remain there, or the memories latched onto small things, like buildings, facades, or porch swings? Does 'home' mean a place where a certain feeling is felt?
Because when I am in Seattle, among the buses whirring by, and the sights and smells and sounds, with the Olympic mountains decorating the horizon, I feel like I am home. But so much of me wanted to remain in Moscow this last weekend... where I touched up on memories I felt were left unfinished and was given the opportunity to meet new people as well. The rolling hills and the hearts of the people captivate me, and I am at a loss.
'Belong' is probably a word that is relative too.
Because I couldn't pick a place where I belong above the other. And wherever I am, it seems like I am wishing to be living someplace else.
A mystery.
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