Cities and Homes

Are we all leaving pieces of our hearts in different places? And how long before we run out of pieces to give?

That rambling begs some prelude. My mind has currently been mulling about cities and homes. People and homes. Homes.

My long absence from writing is because I don’t find myself still nowadays. Stillness is the ability to feel rooted, secure and safe from a wild change that could whisk you away to new territory. One could say I am in the transitory lag.

I currently live in one of the greatest cities in the world, and yet I don’t feel wrapped in its warmth yet. I feel like a tourist. Admiring, visiting, living, peering inside from the outside through literal glass walls – asking for it to envelope me in its confines.

It is a process.

The last city I lived in, had the home I grew up in. The city itself has been rapidly transforming over the years, but still had that one grocery store with the uncle who watched me grow up since I was a child. The city held a chest of my memories, my change, the life of people I loved was intertwined within its frail invisible net, its predictable slowness and the two humble skyscrapers.

I recall working at my first job close to one of these skyscrapers and each time I took the left turn to work, the beautiful conical architecture of the Faisaliah tower loomed over me ablaze and golden. Growing larger as I came closer to the clinic. Reflecting the noon sun, blindingly bright, silent, familiar – always there, as if silently murmuring, “You have arrived”. Made me smile each day. Made me believe cities welcome you in their own ways – through architecture that peeks out at you sneakily through buildings on a rough day, through cats that choose to honor your car roof with their nap, through strangers giving you prayers, through roads that clear out traffic and doors of opportunities that open for you – making you feel like you belong there. The map your veins carry and the pulse that you will now ebb through.

It has been 5 months of living in a new, fast, exciting, shiny country now. I have had a delightful gamut of experiences. I have ticked many dreams off of my many lists! I have the greatest family and friends that one could ask for who currently feel like my only home.

So, why then do I feel like I cower from this city’s light?

I stare wistfully at building and streets as I pass, wondering which one of them will exude comfort, and allow me to squeeze in?

Occasionally, I feel like I deliberately don’t allow myself to settle in, don’t let my heart get too attached, don’t get too comfortable, because a change might be coming. Change is not exciting anymore. It’s work. It’s breathing through random bouts of loneliness but also crying of exhaustion. Change is exciting new beginnings but also telling yourself that you are an adult and you must adapt. I don’t look forward to change as I did before. I don’t welcome it gleefully. I let it in warily, wishing it occupies a quiet corner and stays inconspicuous.

It is worth reflecting upon how some strange unknown cities can absorb you in their folds in such a short time and yet some large exciting cities take time to settle in you. Settle in you and not vice versa.

I walk through streets feeling like I see myself in others here, happy and lost. Physically and emotionally clinging onto those we associate and stay here with. Hoping to connect to the outside via their experiences, while envying them for having a whole life they call home here.

How many homes do we have in us? How many times do we pack, unpack, begin to live, and repeat it all over again? Do we run out of chances to give cities? Do we then, just live in them like hotel guests, never noticing that chipped wood in the foot of the nightstand or the tiny hole in the cleanly vacuumed rug?

I hope not.

I want to find tiny crevices in the expanse of this city that will hold my nuggets of familiarity. Have my stories to tell. I don’t want to be the listener when friends roll out their nostalgia here, I want to have my own favorite grocery stores and wisdom to share. I don’t want to feel out of context. This feeling is strangely unique for me. I prided myself on being adaptable, noiselessly blending in, not complaining – but at 30, I am allowed to feel like this is work. Not the blending in, but the unpacking of self, to function individually, to offer my full self to a new place.

I don’t want to believe that the only way to fit into cities is through jobs – hustling together for survival. It should be more than that. I know eventually I will make space for myself here too, weave myself into it, tack myself on it, if I must! Because change has always made me grow, and good has always come out of it. (Read old posts to know about my twisted love/hate relationship with change)

Until then, this is my present coming out here to breathe. I hope I come back to this post with a conquering sequel soon – one in which a beautiful skyscraper winked at me and said, “I’ve been waiting, welcome home!”.

🙂