Where My Heart Is

My heart  is  not  in a  specific  geographic  location, it  was  once, or maybe  that’s  what  I thought. I thought  it  was  back  in Casiopea  #208, since  I was  young  I convinced  myself of this.  That  place where  I felt  cozy,  my  heart  seemed  to feel  welcomed  and  unique.  There, my inner child came  out everyday  to play.  I always  considered that  my  favorite  place  in the  world.

As  years  passed,  I couldn’t  visit  Casiopea  #208 as  often anymore,  my  heart  seemed  to take  it  a  bit hard.  There  was  no place  like  home, I thought. And there  certainly  was  no place  my  heart  could be  at  complete  peace  if it  was  not  there.

As  I grew older, the  people  that  came  into  my  life  were  many  and for a  while  I thought  maybe  that’s where  my heart  could find  a  new  host.  Wrong. Many  of those  people  stayed for a  while  and  left. That’s  where  I believed my  home  and heart  were  not  a  moving vehicle.  My  home  and heart  were in  the  giggles  I shared  with my family  as  a  child,  the  unforgettable  holidays  we  spent  inside  and outside  the  walls  of Casiopea  #208. My  heart  was  in the  scars  my knees, arms, and legs  still  have from  playing  tag and hide  &  seek until  late  hours, and  even in the  once  burned  and now  cured wounds  on my  back and  foot.

Yet,  as  time  has  passed, I’ve  discovered that  although  my  heart  and home  are  in  those  memories, it  is  only  a  portion of it.

Now, I have  learned that  a  part  of my  heart  is  in the  southern part  of the  Pacific  Ocean with someone  extremely  special.  The  other  parts  of this  candid heart  are  in  my  brother’s  soul, in my grandma’s  anecdotes, in  my  grandpa’s  jokes, in my aunt’s  nurturing heart, and in  my  best  friend’s caring curls. I have  found that every  single  one  of them  carries  a  piece  of my heart  with  them.  My heart  has  found somewhere  to  rest, somewhere  where  it  does  not  feel  judged, where  it  feels  like home.

My heart  was  not  left  to rest  in  Casiopea  #208.  The  home  or shelter this  place  offered  for it  was burned  down by  all  the  broken promises, the  high egos  we  all  ended up developing,  and the  years that  made  us  distant  as  they  went  by.  That  place  could  no longer  be  the  shelter of my heart, there was  nothing  but  ashes  that  scattered  remains  of memories  and burned pieces  of old  wood left  of Casiopea  #208.  Addictions  shattered the  life  that  was  once  spent  building  it  high with every block  and piece  of wood, each  with hopes  for prosperity  in  them.

That’s  where  it, my heart, finally  realized that  was  not  home,  Casiopea  #208 was  not  my heart’s home.  Those  who hold it  know, they  know,  where  my  heart  is.

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55 comments

  1. A part of my heart is still stuck in those days when we used to play hide and seek until late hours because immediately when we went to high school, my friends just outgrew me and felt as if i didn’t finish my playing days. I feel like i owe it to myself to go back and play with little kids, but this is beautiful post Fernanda thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much, I appreciate it you sharing something about you. I think that it is okay for our hearts to hold to those memories since they must’ve made you happy. But your heart could most certainly be in other things or people that make you happy as well 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about, but I love the way that you express it. 🙂
    You seem to know all my friends – today was the second time in a few hours that I saw a comment of yours on a post so I thought that I’d pop over and say ‘hi’.
    Hi! 🙂
    Hope your having a great day – all kindness – Robert (York – England).

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I can relate to this so much! Although my “home” is still standing, it’s been sold. For a long time I called it home until my parents moved out of the country. I felt lost and confused for a while until I, too, understood that home is not (or doesn’t need to be) an actual building/city/country… Written from the heart, I really enjoyed your post!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much! 😊
      Yes, I know what that feels like. I think it’s that we just grew so attached to the memories we have of that place that we come to identify it as our home yet we don’t realize it was really ever just a host because it doesn’t need to be, like you said, a building, city, or country.
      Thank you for stopping by! 😄

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Such a beautiful post! As someone who moved around a lot as a child, I could never really tell where my heart was until nowadays when I have realise that it´s all over the place, like you 🙂 x

    Liked by 1 person

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