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The Long Way Home

For those who carry their homes on their backs - and still go on searching for a place to rest their hearts

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1. The Boxes, Again Moving house. Again. Some say you get used to it — that over time you learn to pack and unpack with ease. But it isn’t true. With every move, something inside me grows a little more uninhabited, as if the act of leaving kept carving tiny empty rooms inside me that no new address can fill. I’ve moved so many times I’ve lost count. And I don’t just mean walls and ceilings — I mean leaving behind corners where the light sat just right, places where the silence knew me by name, windows that framed a rhythm I had only just begun to understand. Each time I close a door for the last time, there’s a faint feeling that I’m abandoning a version of myself who finally felt at home there. There’s a kind of weariness you don’t notice at first: the kind that comes from never lying two nights in a row in the same bed. You learn the weight of temporary places, the way a room looks at you when it knows you won’t stay long enough to warm it. Everything becomes provisional ...

Day 1 - Starting Before I’m Ready

I’ve decided to write something every day — not because I believe in discipline (I don’t) or because I think the world needs one more person narrating their existence (it definitely doesn’t), but because there’s something oddly comforting about putting a few words in a row and watching them behave. Or misbehave. My mind is a neighborhood where thoughts wander around unsupervised; this blog might be the closest thing to community policing I’ll ever attempt. I’m not aiming for revelations. Most days aren’t built for epiphanies — they’re made of groceries, emails, half-forgotten intentions, and the quiet hope that nothing catastrophic happens before bedtime. But still, there’s meaning hiding in the mundane, like a cat under a car pretending it isn’t obvious. Maybe that’s what I’m hoping to catch: the small truths that only show up when you stop trying to look impressive. If you’re reading this, don’t expect grand statements. Expect a mind stretching its legs. Expect tiny reflections ab...

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