Homecoming King

It’s been a while since I last came home. By “home” I don’t literally mean our little house on the prairies of the city’s suburban outskirts, as I’ve been living in the quaint house for almost all my life. I mean home as in inside me, inside myself, inside the only real home I can ever really have. Profound, I know. Let’s just say I’ve been away on a soul-searching adventure of sorts, thinking I could find myself elsewhere, some distant place other than what was already within me. I’ve had no success in finding what I was looking for. And it feels like it’s been a very long time since I last paid a visit, sat down and had a good talk with myself over some tea and biscuits.

In this day and age when people live in insomniac cities that never sleep or blink, it’s hard not to get lost in the colorful chaos. It has become so hard to ignore the many pastimes that exist only to amuse and lure us away from the clear paths we’ve supposedly already chosen for ourselves, leading us astray like some legendary piper did those poor mice and children of Hamelin once upon a time. Losing focus has become part of daily routine, as many of us momentarily leave behind our carefully crafted plans to enjoy some leisurely activity here and there, hoping to find escape and release and, quite possibly, that one missing piece that would complete us and make us truly happy.

We find ourselves forever wallowing in endless, man-made oceans of bright neon lights and disorienting sounds and other eccentric sensations that can easily distract, making us all but helpless against these temptations that surround us. It seems there is always so much to do, so many places to go to and sights to see, so many people to meet, and yet so little time. It’s hard to find your way when everything around you points you to so many other different, often opposite, directions. It’s hard to stop and keep still when the world around you is spinning around, feeding you with confusion and pushing you to march aimlessly down the crowded streets along with the rest of the faceless mob as if electricity ran through your veins. Especially for someone like me, whose sense of inner direction is either dormant or entirely nonexistent, getting carried away by the ever-changing tides of the times is becoming both a hobby and an ugly vice that has left me a mess so easily swayed by circumstances into making half-hearted decisions. The world constantly pulls me away from myself, drawing me away from all the confines of my being with promises of finding bliss outside. And I find myself following in a trance.

Lately I’ve been so caught up with work and all its unthinkable horrors that I’ve barely had the time to stop and figure things out. I’ve somehow become constantly hungry for more than what I already have, chasing after dreams that always seem far away. Pursuing your goals and ambitions and all other worldly things often leads you away from most of the things you’ve always believed mattered the most, things you’ve always held dear and close to your heart. You easily forget your morals, your sense of restraint and control, your childhood inhibitions and self-imposed boundaries, even your impression of who you truly are and what you really want and what would truly make you happy.

I’ve been so engrossed with my journeys outward, entangled in an intricate web of hedonistic consumerism and the addictive cycle of pleasure-seeking egocentrism, that I’ve all but completely lost touch with my being, separated from my true self by the wilderness of distractions life has set before me. Sure, I still get some time alone, to wash the dishes when I get home or raid the stores at the malls in my obsessive-compulsive shopping sprees, but when you come to think of it, I haven’t really had the time to be alone with myself, away from the dirty dishes, away from the trendy yet impractical clothes nobody else but my plastic baul and the malls I’ve been financially supporting appreciate, away from all the things that are cluttered around me and inside my head. I’ve been so lost, so far away from home, from myself, and I must admit I haven’t really put much effort in finding my way back.

After work I somehow feel a vague sense of emptiness, which of course then gives birth to the need to preoccupy myself with more work, if only to fill my hollow insides and dull the throbbing pain of a troubled mind and kill the time, like pulling the stubborn weeds from the garden soil (with enough suppressed tension to actually pull and tear off the earth’s entire crust, too), or inspecting the retailer shelves for whatever expensive new arrivals I might have, heaven forbid, possibly missed by accident. I haven’t really taken the time off to just be with myself and not struggle to keep up with the rest of this quickly revolving world’s extra-curricular activities. Usually, I do.

I’ve always treasured stillness and silence, that precious time to be alone with your many thoughts and yourself, quietly reciting monologues and soliloquies and prayers and conversing with that other sentient voice in you (creepy, I know). It’s another voice that isn’t entirely your own but somehow helps in stirring everything else that’s swirling in your mind into a good brew of recollection and contemplation. It’s not like I’m schizophrenic or anything. I think it’s something we all do unconsciously; turning inward, tuning in to our own thoughts and learning to shut out everything else when it gets too noisy. I just find it a good habit, a way of keeping myself mentally healthy.

Despite living in a world that constantly drives itself towards exhaustion and leaves behind those who cannot keep up, I sometimes choose to just stop altogether, discreetly step aside and let those more eager to run the race shuffle ahead of me and disappear in the distance. Of course I don’t like getting left behind. But sometimes it just feels good to stop and rest. Then I trail behind in my own sweet time, watching the colorful blur that is the rest of the world in a hurried fast forward as I go along. Whenever I feel so close to burning out and getting lost along the way, I usually pause for awhile, taking time to regain my balance and checking my map and compass before once again running the marathon through life’s convoluted (and heavily booby-trapped) labyrinths. I used to do that a lot, like an instinctive reaction to everyday life. I don’t know what sent that habit flying out the window.

I guess I got carried away again, swept off my feet by my insatiable desires to complete myself and pursue happiness in all the mundane comforts that surround us. Of course, like everyone else, I also strive to chase after the many ideas the culture has taught us to value, like success and prominence and wealth, no matter how tiring and draining it sometimes can be. I guess I overdid it again, as usual, losing my focus in the process. I sought happiness in all the wrong places. I feasted gluttonously on food that I knew would only accumulate in my already gargantuan thighs and cut my life expectancy in half. I spent money on many unnecessary things I found rather comforting (if only temporarily), stacking heaps upon heaps of new clothes on my hamper while helplessly watching as my handicapped social bridges began to collapse one by one and crumble to dust, abandoned and neglected. I can’t say I’ve entirely burned them to the ground but much work needs to be done to repair the damage and rebuild where gaps have now emerged. I feverishly pursued lofty ambitions, the fruits of which are still yet to ripen, sacrificing a great deal of whatever time I had left to deal with what little that remained of my so-called life.

Now, after some thinking, I can say I’ve reached a point of (long-overdue) enlightenment. I’ve realized that no matter how far away from home and from yourself everyday life takes you, it’s important to always find your way back and return to the self, on a homecoming of sorts. At the end of the day you must take the time to pause, breathe and look back inside, learn to let go of the worries and troubles of the world around you. I may venture out and explore every so often, broadening my horizons, but now I try my best to not be too far away and distant from my inner self, my core. As the Zen saying goes, you cannot see your reflection in moving water. It is only in still waters that you truly see a clear reflection of yourself. That is why, I’m reminded, I do not fear the long, quiet journey home everyday, despite the carnivalesque theatrics of my dysfunctional family waiting to greet me home by the doorstep. I relish in it, finding in it the chance to forget the confusion the world outside so easily causes and return to who I truly am. At the end of the long day, shopping and wandering the streets, I’ve learned to sever my ties with the pretentious world and reunite with the real me waiting for me to come home. It’s like taking off a dirtied coat and leaving it hanging outside just before stepping into the door. And the homecoming is always wonderfully warm.

Now I’m home. Again. And this time I’ll try my best to stay as long as I can.