I have tried to write this since so long now. Yet no matter how hard I tried to start, nothing seemed right. Every sentence seemed to lack that little piece of satisfaction.
And no, I am not writing this (and hopefully have posted it by the time you’re reading) because I’ve managed to break through some supposed “writer’s block”, like a slave freed from the chains ready to embark on a trip full of magic and wonder.
I’m still just as hopeless.
But I don’t want this hopelessness coming in the way of what must be put into words. Even if that means having to embark, bound to chains. So if you watch the video below, then yes, this is kind of a sad and bleak post.
Who knows? I might sound cheery by the end. Let’s begin by this video I made..excuse the shaky recording and my voice that definitely isn’t narrator-standards..
December 2014 was when myself and my family had to shift to another city, almost a hour and half away. 67 miles to be precise. That obviously meant having to move into a new house, away from a house that was home. Now it might seem ridiculous but 67 miles seemed like a distance encompassing space that can’t be measured in any unit known to man. It’s hard to explain but home hasn’t ever seem so far.
Alas, circumstances were just as unavoidable as change was imminent.
In the course of emptying our house, I have felt memories. Not only seen past moments being played in my head but felt them sink in and jump back up like a crashing wave hitting the shore line, again and again and again.
During that time, it felt like a storm let loose and the video above was a paddle for a boat, too stubborn to leave its sea.
I suppose it’s understandable. After all, 11 years is time enough. Enough to grasp you. I also know that a home is made from the people, not the walls, but I can’t stop myself. So it might yet again sound ridiculous but the door to that house was the lock to a treasure chest within which were the fondest times that I could have ever longed for.
Like a scent that can’t be stopped, my home was childhood-scented. 11 years later, I can’t imagine a place any different.
Not even 67 miles away.