Home (A Prosy Piece)

I spent my first 8 years calling a prison my home. I spent my next 7 thinking there was no way out. Looking out at the busy world beyond those walls; breathing in the cool night air at 3 AM, when everything was still and quiet. Leaning longingly over that 12th story balcony, thinking maybe, just maybe, I might finally fall. The asphalt below held such promise for me. So, why then, did I call this home? Because I didn’t yet understand that home is a state of mind. That home is not physical or local. Home is not any one place, a house or a town. Home is within us; it’s always there if we can find it. I’m 19 now and I finally understand. I spent the past 3 years searching for something I always had, I just couldn’t see it. No matter where I am or how bad things get I can always go home because: home is the place we care about, it’s the people who love us. Home is the things that make us happy.

Do you know what hate is? True hate? A friend enlightened me. Now, you can’t hate a person, not really, truly hate them; you can fix people. No. A hate, a genuine hate, is a fact or a circumstance or anything you don’t like that you are powerless to change. For so long I thought I hated a person more than anything but I was wrong. If all else failed, I could’ve fixed him. No, my greatest hate, which has been there my entire life, is that… the only homes I have ever known, have never been my own. And, I believe I’ll always carry that with me, that I always hated every place I’ve ever lived; that safety abandoned me when I was young, cutting short the precious age of innocence. My second greatest hate, well… That’s another story all together.

I know now it doesn’t matter where I sleep at night or how much I hate it. As long as I have people who care about me and things that make me happy, even though it’s sometimes hard to remember, I will always have a home. In fact, I have many homes, so I will always have a safe place to land. Home is not the house I live in. Home is not any one zip code or abbreviation. My home is in all of the hearts that hold a piece of mine.

So many people spend their whole lives searching for something they may never find… because they’re looking in all the wrong places. We always look outside ourselves when, oftentimes, the only place to find what we think we need is already there inside of us just waiting to be realized.

My journey, the search for home lasted 19 years. I went from naive to angry to hopeless to crushed to numb to unaware to surprised to smacked in the face with god damn brutal reality. And, actually, angry happened more than once on that ride. But I’m one of the lucky ones. It only took me 19 years to find what I think everybody searches for at one point or another. If you think about it, 19 years feels like eternity while you’re actually living it; especially if you can hardly stand living it. But, once it’s behind you and you can look back… actually, never mind. I just looked back and it was a cruel and brutal and insanely long 19 years. But, I’ve got the rest of my life ahead of me. Or, I could die right this minute. If I live for another 30 years or another 30 seconds, I won’t have died searching. I know where my home is, I found it. I’m a lucky one. I’m lucky not just because I found the true meaning of home while I’m still young, but also because I don’t wish to change the ride that brought me here to this understanding. Sure, the ride was rough, but I’m here now because of it… and I wouldn’t change a thing. Well, I might but I know that if changed anything I wouldn’t be the same person I am now and I’m happy with the person I am now so if I had the chance, I’d pass.

Welcome home. Turns out, no matter where I lived, for the past 4 years, I’ve always been home… I just couldn’t see it. And if you had told me that 10 years ago, when I was 9, I would’ve laughed in your face. Oh well, learning takes time. Sometimes, for the lesson to really stick, you can’t learn from other people’s mistakes; you’ve got to make those mistakes for yourself.

So, it turns out, home is something that no one can ever take away from us. Go figure.

_ _ _ _

I called it prison, they call it home. Oh well, two each his own.


Look At That Face!

Look At That Face!

Before I was yours there was a time when I could not go outside. I would stay all day in this concrete cage and the days would pass me by. Many people scuffled through this dark and dusty place; each time they looked but passed me by for a softer, younger face.

For three long years, here I'd wait in this cold decrepit place. Just waiting for the day you'd come and say 'Look at that face!' Through all this time I wagged my tail, hoping and believing that someday you would come and see far past my size and wrinkles.

At my first home... There, they were nice, until two weeks past and twice my size. They didn't foresee my growth or my playful puppy ways. They didn't account for training, or the messes I might make so here I was left to stay in this cold concrete cage. Until the day you came and said 'Look at that face!'

Now here I am today, in this sunny grassy place. I fetch and I obey at the moment that you say. Soon we go inside to the comfy furnished space where you lay down on your bed and I stretch out by your side. You stroke my head, I wag my tail and here we say no more, for here I am today; happy, healthy, and forever home.

A Note From The Author:::...
All of my fur-babies are rescues. I feel the ones who've had a difficult life appreciate and treasure our love more. You'll have a lot to learn about a rescue fur-baby but it's well worth it for the love they give back to you.