You Were My Vacation And I Was Your Home

Home is not a four wall enclosure or a place, it’s a feeling of security and welcome, a concept that encompasses a tangible location. And when you get into a relationship, you begin paying rents. But what if your lease is up prematurely, or the rent gets too much to bear? You are rendered homeless by the liability of the burgeoning cost, so you decide to leave once again. You, who holds a traveler’s soul and a wandering heart, journey to find the next destination you can call home.

And after all the flights that you have embarked on, you’ll come to realize that places do not make places, people make places. You step in the foots of a stranger in a foreign land, enthralled by the newness of the place, feeding in the energy of the landscape that seemingly consumes you, getting lost in a strangers’ eyes. Those people who have touched you during that short period of time you spent in those places feed you with the fantasies that you could only dream of.

That temporary euphoria of butterflies and rainbows sealed in the picture perfect moment has made what reality back home seem like a grayscale filter; a colorless, monotonous world in juxtaposition.

You become the person filled with youthful exuberance, so enthusiastic about discovering foreign lands, unravelling world’s mysteries. Someone who would prefer sweating it out in the sun than spending the whole afternoon strolling in the mall. Conquering the treacherous mountains like how you would conquer your stage. Even engaging in adrenaline pumping activities like bungee jumping or skydiving, a complete disregard for acrophobia.

Being constantly fed on high, you start craving for more instant gratification, more adventures, more dangers, more challenges. And the more you crave for these high, the more you find disappointments when people fail to consistently deliver. And you start contemplating the option of leaving once more, finding a new person, a new home, the same vicious cycle that you identify with.

You become the kind of person who chooses to take the plunge even if it scares the hell out of you, because you refuse to settle. You, who wants stability but your heart is a fleeting platform. You, who gained a sense of self, but lose sight of the people along your journey.

You, who craves for enduring connection, more than short-lived physical intimacy but choose to disengage when you can’t find the strong connection you used to have. From a mere torch, you grew to be a wildfire, too much to handle, a danger for the people around you, for you don’t know when you will decide to forsake everything that you have invested time and effort for something new, something more elusive to chase, leaving those who love you with the aftermath of burns and scars.

For the future plans crumbles into nothingness, into mere sound bites, as they watch you jeopardize the possibilities of what ‘would haves’ and ‘could haves’. Old habits die hard and you contemplate on the possibilities of security that you have become seemingly out of touch with.

We constantly chase after the idea of freedom painted by the mainstream pop culture, of independence, of authenticity. I think that wanderlust is a misused and overly romanticized concept, tried and tested. Wanderlust is a syndrome that people are constantly fed, the package of freedom and self-actualization, the pinnacle attainment of our human needs.

In retrospect, we just want to feel special in comparison to the people around us. We want people from the peripherals to take notice of our carefully curated Instagram photos, to be filled with envy as they continue to grind in their daily routines. While time stopped for you, it didn’t stop for the world. We want to be perceived as a unique individual, the reason why we often romanticize about finding ‘The One’ as an elusive concept. The one that perfectly tailors to our idea of love, like a shopping list. Time and again, it is sold to us in Disney movies, in story plots that sugarcoats what reality entails. We have sadly become a generation that confuses privileges with entitlements, deluded by the notion of taking the easy way out, deluded by the idea that love comes effortless. Love is easy, commitment is hard, especially when the world is your oyster.

Lust occurs more often than love, but when it catches up to you, it catches you off guard. With your nimble fingers, like a map, you will trace his body like a road trip, marking the landmarks as you go, getting lost, finding your way back home.

You listen to the pulse of his beating heart as you lay on his chest, thinking that maybe home can exist as a heartbeat, that maybe someone can exist as a home and an adventure all at once. The intensity of his heartbeat multiplies as your fingers subconsciously go through the motions, and you feel the sudden surge of exhilaration as he releases himself into you.

And you wonder again, is this finally home sweet home?