"Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself; I am large - I contain multitudes."

My complexity is a struggle. But my motivation in life is to learn... 

...how to see, how to feel, how to hear, how to taste, how to smell...

I still am a learner, and I have to learn how to be one especially that I am no longer living in the place I call my home.

One time I listened to Fiona Apple, I landed on one of her songs from one of her albums where it says, “Home is where my habits have a habitat.” That line hits home until I realized that I never really have a home I call my own.

While I was writing, a series of scenes enter my mind in a flash.

At 20, I went away with my clothes and things to the place that my family calls our home, and they never spoke a word about it. Maybe they want me gone.

At 19, I lost track of the church I now knew was my home, for I loved the world so much, and while I keep on loving it, I never have gotten the love from the world.

At 18, I died from my consequences, and while I still have lived for the very moment, I now think of myself as a living dead.

At 17, I never stole my classmate’s home, but the entire crowd pushed me that I did it, so I said yes. As a revenge, he stole my home that I thought it was my own.

At 16, I completed my Junior High School without friends I call my home. I have friends, yes, but they are not the people I call my home.

At 15, I fell in love with him, and by the time he knew, he just laughed. That destroyed my heart, another thing I call my home.

At 14, I left my family’s church and looking for others because I just saw people who can easily change after an hour of Sunday Mass.

At 13, I stayed at a high school with the same faces I saw during my elementary years and opened as unusual. They just let me, but they never really let me enter through their homes.

At 12, I and my family started bringing memories to our new home, although it was yet to finish. While it was not, like the structure, I felt the incompleteness with my family.

At 11, I was confronted by my classmates for my unusual personality and cried every single time they bring it up.

At 6 to 10, I and my family transferred from house to house every year, building memories on every home, and forgot it the day we transfer to the next one.

At 5, I studied at a kindergarten school where I thought I could excel, but my teachers already prefer pupils they think will more excel than some of us do.

At 4, I left the home for a day to play with my older guy friends and went home already being played one by one by my older guy friends.

At 3, I saw the real universe–black, because someone that I knew blocked the view of my home as he put his gun onto my two mouths.

At 2, I never felt Mama and Papa when my younger sister meets the world for the first time.

At 1, I remembered what it was like then, where I think I was at my home, without the talking.

Now, I am about to turn to 21. And I still have not found a home I call my own until I realized that I do not want a home because I would ruin that.

Until I found him.

No.

Until I found Him.

When I found Him, I can see the light from the darkness. I was still walking far from Him, but, I know He will be with me, as He restores my home.