Sometimes I feel homesick, but not quite sure for where. I just know I want to go home, to that feeling of having arrived, when you first set your sight on the places that know you so well, where the warmth of your house and its familiar corners rush to greet you as you walk through the door.
On this merry-go-round of work and home, of waiting at cold train platforms and wishing every hour away, I am at every moment more aware of an ever increasing longing for somewhere else, where dreams are fulfilled.
Sometimes, no matter how much you try and convince yourself otherwise, you are just a passenger in life, and you have to go wherever the ride takes you. It’s not always fun. In fact it’s dull as hell. It’s during those endlessly monotonous emotionally void moments that it becomes the hardest to believe that there is a more fulfilling life to be lived.
Maybe beyond self-doubt and fear, fulfillment is there waiting. The important thing is to not get stuck; there must always be room, no matter how small, for just a little bit of faith that things will happen when they can, and that when they do, they might just exceed our dreams and expectations.
