Homeless
Last night, I realized that I’m homeless. I’m not sure when it happened exactly…..
"Home is where you hang your hat." I’ve always liked this saying. “Hat” symbolizes work toil, worries, life’s burdens. For me, home is a place where I could be myself, where I don’t care about my appearance, a place of Mom’s home cooking, where I’d get taken care of when sick. It was warm, comfortable, stress-free. It was my headquarters, my haven, my escape. No social etiquette required. 24 hour access. No invite needed. No RSVP. I could come in and do as I pleased. I could open the fridge, drink directly out of the milk carton, stuff a piece of cold pizza in my mouth without ceremony. I had no problems sleeping at home. My room was a private place. Nowadays, Mom’s home cooking has been replaced with take-out from Noodle Planet. My door is opened without knocking at 8am, awakened because of mom’s anxiety attack of the week or dad needing to talk to me about something. Sleep is restless and fitful. The thought of home elicits sighs and anxiety. I can’t let my hair down anymore. When I’m home, I’m still working….working to make sure I understand what my dad’s condition is today, walking on tiptoes to ensure that I don’t upset my mom, worrying about how much money I can contribute this month, agonizing over the future, our finances and how to save, save, save.
I often find myself as a guest in someone else’s home. When I’m at my boyfriend’s or at a friend’s, I can vicariously experience that “home” feeling again. At Matt’s, I can throw open the front door, go to the fridge for a drink, then make myself comfortable on the couch. At Shine’s, I have some clothes in the closet, a couple drawers of things, toiletries. At Jo’s, I am always welcome “as is,” disheveled, hungover, weepy, sweaty. I guess I have a patchwork of places that give me shelter, however temporary or illusional. In reality, I am a reluctant vagabond, desperate to go to a home that no longer exists. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life looking for a close second.
Unfortunately for me, there is no place like home.
"Home is where you hang your hat." I’ve always liked this saying. “Hat” symbolizes work toil, worries, life’s burdens. For me, home is a place where I could be myself, where I don’t care about my appearance, a place of Mom’s home cooking, where I’d get taken care of when sick. It was warm, comfortable, stress-free. It was my headquarters, my haven, my escape. No social etiquette required. 24 hour access. No invite needed. No RSVP. I could come in and do as I pleased. I could open the fridge, drink directly out of the milk carton, stuff a piece of cold pizza in my mouth without ceremony. I had no problems sleeping at home. My room was a private place. Nowadays, Mom’s home cooking has been replaced with take-out from Noodle Planet. My door is opened without knocking at 8am, awakened because of mom’s anxiety attack of the week or dad needing to talk to me about something. Sleep is restless and fitful. The thought of home elicits sighs and anxiety. I can’t let my hair down anymore. When I’m home, I’m still working….working to make sure I understand what my dad’s condition is today, walking on tiptoes to ensure that I don’t upset my mom, worrying about how much money I can contribute this month, agonizing over the future, our finances and how to save, save, save.
I often find myself as a guest in someone else’s home. When I’m at my boyfriend’s or at a friend’s, I can vicariously experience that “home” feeling again. At Matt’s, I can throw open the front door, go to the fridge for a drink, then make myself comfortable on the couch. At Shine’s, I have some clothes in the closet, a couple drawers of things, toiletries. At Jo’s, I am always welcome “as is,” disheveled, hungover, weepy, sweaty. I guess I have a patchwork of places that give me shelter, however temporary or illusional. In reality, I am a reluctant vagabond, desperate to go to a home that no longer exists. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life looking for a close second.
Unfortunately for me, there is no place like home.