Like a migratory bird that flies thousands of miles for survival, I had in me the need to save myself from the clutches of this seemingly robotic civilization and so I flew without aim outward in search of myself. I left familiar faces and places in search of adventures that half filled my thirsty soul; there was no anchor that could hold me and whenever someone or something stabilized this wild spirit inside me, I ran. I ran because I feared death by monotony.
As someone rightly said, consistency is death but I figured later this year that to chase the spectacular, you need a pillar of consistency to bank on when the chaos dies down. Some call them friends, lovers, family and I’d like to term it ‘home’.
I had a revelation and the past couple days confirmed for me an astounding fact that I found home in distant lands after eight years of leaving what was once home for me. Being an immigrant and someone who never really broke free, I understand that being yourself takes a lot of courage especially in a society like the one I grew up in. Expectations are force fed every day. All I ever wanted was the freedom to be myself; I escaped my ever loving yet overprotective family back in 2010 and I thought it would make me a happier person.
Years spent in foreign cities with unfamiliar faces, I learnt to live independently while rediscovering my passion for the ol' muses, writing and photography. I no longer had a need to hide in plain sight and that first sip of freedom is like drinking from the forbidden well, there's no going back. Merriment and gay abandon clouded my head for days which somehow stretched to months and years. And yet, I still wasn't ‘home’. Immigrants like me are islands floating in an ocean of strangers; we migrate in search of a special something which not all of us end up finding in their lifetime.
"Immigrants are islands floating in an ocean of strangers; we all migrate in search of a special something but for some, the search never ends"
Last year however, things changed for the better when I fell feet first into a cave. When you fall, the cracks as they say let the darkness out and the light in; and it wasn't as pretty looking as the words. While I battled loneliness for a long time, the search for a home only intensified leading me back to where I first started; back in Hyderabad. Amidst the chaos of a friendly, strange city I no longer recognized, I stumbled upon the idea of 'home'.
Home is where you are free, where you are your unhinged self, set loose to roam the wild lands of your choosing. It's never a place or even someone hiding behind a face. It could be the high seat at "La Marzocco" where I love spending my Saturdays or my brother's carefree attitude as he roams through a foriegn city merrily lost. It could be your favorite song that's stuck on an infinite loop; it could be anything that you can trust falling back first into. Home is simply an idea and plagiarizing Mr.Nolan, when it is fully formed, fully understood and trusted, it sticks; right in there somewhere.
All along, I never could find home because I was locked up like an ape rattling his own cage. Finally when I broke free, it was not from people or places but myself - the architect of my own unhappiness.
Love yourself for who you are no matter what and trust me, that'll open doors you never knew existed. Do not let the people or the place you're in hold you hostage. Free yourself and fly home friends; because every tired wing deserves the comfort of a nook where dreams that change the world can bloom. And home is where your heart is; stay true to it.