What a start to 2020!

Logging on April 5th about 2020 so far.

January brought death, February was tumultuous, March brought me back home and now, in April, I write, sing, breathe, photograph things, eat good food, hydrate, learn new skills, reconnect with people, hoping that it might in a way help me. I scavenge for the remains of my old self as though I am going to absorb them once and for all, and process and then let it go. But I know that I never let anything go. If letting go means forgetting important details and things, I am already doing great. But if letting go means learning from the past, I seem to be victoriously failing at it, I can't put my finger on the whys and the hows of the failing part. Maybe it's the contradicting self in me or maybe it's just what is happening.

The more information I gather, the more I thought I would be good at remembering things, good at processing and understanding things, and the one thing I seem to be getting right is the information overload. A year of living in Chennai and now I am back here with all the memories, uncertain of whether I will make more, uncertain of whether I have, in fact, learnt anything at all about myself.

Something says I am running in circles, after all, I am back to where I wanted to leave - home. Surely home is comfort and love but it is also the place I looked forward to escaping, like many others, of course. I am still that adamant child, unable to let go of the firm nascent ideas of home. The bouts of uncertainty about home being "home" vanish when I realise, when I get this feeling that I can't let my lifetime be spent leading an existence in the comfort of this tiny corner of a wide world.

Is this a sign that "this home" is, perhaps, not where the heart is? Worse, am I choosing to ignore it for a compromise of safety and shelter?