anywhere but home
they always told me, i'm such a never-home kind of girl when I was 17. and i found it funny that right now, the tides have turned, I prefer to be in a particular area of my so-called-home: an ode to the introverted extroverts, my own room. only when and if, i am in my own room, i felt home. maybe it was never about going out or staying in. it was never about the "home". heck, i was never familiar with the concept of home anyway. i just always tried to escape the living room. why was it named the "living room" when I felt the most dreadful (the opposite of lively) there, anyway? — i was never home. literally, and metaphorically, it's impossible for me to get home. it's impossible to get somewhere that you don't know the directions of. it's impossible to get somewhere that only exists as an idea, and an ideal. it's impossible to get somewhere that you never knew a memory of, nor you have the interest to build one there. i have always tried...