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A veces no me alcanza la soledad para abrazarme, y es por eso que me enojo; pues, pocos comprenden lo que significa tenerla al menos un instante entre los brazos.

Esu Emmanuel©️, Sometimes loneliness is not enough for me to hug myself, and that is why I get angry; Well, few understand what it means to have her in your arms for at least a moment.

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~ I’m reading a book by Jerry Spinelli called Maniac Magee. The boy lives with his aunt and uncle who hate each . They divide everything. There is two of everything in the house. Two bathrooms, two milk cans, two packets of bread, two jam bottles, two TVs, two refrigerators, two toasters….

Spinelli puts it very well in the book when he says, "home is a place where everybody shares the same toaster.“ 

~ Fragments

I’ve lived almost 20 years now. And my five senses have associated so many things that they recognises as home. Like Children’s Park at India Gate- spend my sunny weekends on those lawns and rides and swings with my parents. The In N Out store at the petrol pump remind me of mum’s office that i used to visit as a kid cause mum couldn’t leave me home. The row of ice creams stalls from Cream Bell to Vadilal outside my apartment. The bus rides to school.  The blueberry pastry from the bakery near my old house.

These are all fragments of home. They didn’t give me shelter but they are what I would never want my shelter to be without.

~ Love. Family. Friendship. 

It's real. Home is the place in which you share beds with people which will help you sleep on days when even love falls apart. Because it will. Humans are messy and complex. Sure they’re fun and silly and make love and dinner. But looking at the world makes me acutely aware of how damn easy it is piss humans off. How easy it is for humans to throw away all they’ve built and forget everything good that happened when things go wrong. Home is a place which has people who will do just the opposite. When things fall apart because of a major blame game or even a minor infraction, home will remember to store it just as another story that makes the journey unique. It will remember the good times and laugh and hold hands and wait for it to come back around. It will kneel and pray and kiss and make love and tell bedtime stories and be thankful when times are good. 

~ Intention.

Of course, spontaneity and adventure are fun and thrilling. Seeing someone and falling in love is one thing. Becoming a parent is one thing. 

But waking up every morning next to the same person and making sure that you’ll be there for them, bathing kids and calling several times when someone is late than usual in the evening…that’s all intentional.

In a TED talk I watched there was a woman who said, ”don’t be afraid to be the person who loves more.“ Then another said, "At the end of my husband’s life I want him to say that I was the greatest earthly blessing in his life and that he’s a better man because of how I loved him. That’s my goal everyday. That’s how I wanna love this man.That’s an intentional choice. 

It’s extremely special to be chosen.

When you see your mother spend 15mins each day standing, peeling almonds for you, it’s not the action of peeling them that makes you lose your mind, it’s the why- because she loves you. And she chooses you everyday. 

If that’s not home I don't know what is.

~ Ordinary Gifts.

We spend our whole fucking lives chasing what is extraordinary. Because apparently a house, a car or two, our kids being in status schools and wearing brands is more of a priority than what is already extraordinary about our very fucking ordinary lives. 

When you talk to people who’ve lost parents, lost children, lost homes to war, who’ve survied genocide and trauma, 

you ask these people what they miss the most; NONE of them mention the extraordinary things,,, they all say, ”we miss the ordinary moments….hearing the door slam and knowing my husband was home from work, hearing the kids fight in the backyard, the emojis my mom used in her texts…“ 

those little moments when everything you’re chasing and trying to live up to is right in front of you like a string of fairy lights but you’re too busy to notice because hey, you want the spotlight!

Those little moments, simple pleasures that you can’t explain to anybody or show off on your feed- but you will miss the most if taken away from you- that’s essential to home. There is no home without these. 

~ Learning.

We have a quote in Tamil which says, ‘family is the first university’. I’ve always loved that quote. Home teaches you. And learns itself too. Teaches what? That’s different for everybody. But it is a place where you learn one thing clearly above everything else- home is a place where you don't have to puff up. You don’t have to shrink. You stand on your sacred ground.

You will be told when you are wrong but will never be forced to protect yourself and bulletproofing. When you win, you will have people celebrating you but you never for a minute have to make yourself seem small and modest. 

That’s home. 

Home is a place. Home is people. Home is both those things intertwined into a tree so big, so pretty, that you’ll ask the apsaras to build you a replica of what you had on this earth- that tree’s shade is what you will ask for in paradise. Not all of us on earth have those trees. So the ones who do, should know that they have what everybody  gets in the afterlife. 

Be it in a single person. Or a huge family sharing a body wash. Or two kids. A mother. Or friends. And if lucky, all of them.

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No certainty, in this game.
A bow before first offers, something wild and renewed,
but it’s all curtains. All a big bright blur in the vantage point of a quiet night again.

Sparse passing streams for a cool drink, I’m beginning to think some madness has taken me;
Bright and unbridled chaos in the ether.

I hear my quiet steps, with the last city bus going by. Breath drawing momentary dew in the sky. It’s a kind remark never seen nor heard.

Not myself. Never with no one. Or I’m fooled into some genuine delusion. Soft steps to stairs with worlds bouncing in them, I’m impaired. I’d curl in your arms but I’m afraid of the trade.

What can I give? What, what can I do?

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i had the realization today while reading our new messages

it’s been two years since we’ve spoken and we’re just catching up

you telling me about your new life and me telling you about mine

you’re doing well you say and you’re excited to be finishing up school

you say you miss me and want me in your life again

i used to wish for those words to come out of your mouth or be sent in a message to me

back when i was sobbing on the floor of my bedroom and killing myself wondering what could be so wrong with me that you couldn’t stand to be with me anymore

you saying those words today mean nothing and they are far too late

and i know i am okay

the pain of the past no longer haunts me and you are just a distant memory

it feels good and i feel good and i’m glad you miss me

now maybe, just maybe,  you can feel what i felt when you left


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“In” this place - it is only a phase.

“In” this phase there is only love.

A vast space it is.

Uncontrollable, untamable, unedited.

But if you stay long enough it evolves from a phase,

to a way of being, then eventually a part of you.

“In” love is soft - coarse, up, down, night, day, and everything in between.

“In” love is all you want and all you need.

Love is loose, love is broad, love is blind.

But if you add an “in,”

Love is strong, love is easy, love is beautiful.

Just add an “in”



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