2009-01-31
perdida
What is it going to take for me to find myself in London?
What am I to give and receive, to do and to be, so that I can find myself in this city, so that I can locate the me that I can�t seem to grasp?
And I know the answer is that I am here, I am already here. But where? Why do I feel like I�m hiding from myself, and how can I get over such absurdity?
My days here are numbered. I�m almost halfway done. I feel a little frantic, a little dismayed. Where am I? I want to feel something that reminds me of home. Not necessarily the specific people and places, but the abstracted concept �home,� something familiar and relatable, a cozy reference point. Why am I seeking familiarity amidst adventurous exoticism? I don�t know why, but I am. And I hope to find it soon, but I know that is counter-productive, because being deliberate about this sort of thing never gets you anywhere- sometimes it can even impede a journey and exploration. I have to overcome this desire in order to conquer it. Which is ironic, I think. Or something like that. I�m confused.
I�ve been walking along the city streets like a pencil tracing the lines on graph paper. But it�s not giving me any true satisfaction, and I don�t feel a part of any of it, I feel only incidentally here, and not particularly welcome. I know being homesick and self-pitying and impatient will do me little good. But I can�t help myself, it�s what I feel. I want to make it all better for myself, but I can�t figure out how. I have some vague ideas for how to mend things short-term, but they involve indulging in my vices, and I�d like to be more noble about it than that. But hell, I�m young.
I don�t know if I should keep looking for me. It�s frustrating and heart-wrenching when the search is in vain. I should sleep. I should write. Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth.
leesah-likes at 12:04 a.m.