New York. Montreal. Paris. Rome. Venice. Santorini. Amsterdam. London. Glasgow. I think I left my heart and soul all over the world. It’s been three weeks, and every other night I find myself dreaming of all these places, dreaming up new homes that could have been or better still, could be, sometime in the near future.
It’s a funny notion though. Home was always been a fixed entity to me. But in the past year, I’ve spent nights in so many different rooms, slept on so many different beds and called 2 cities in separate continents home.
I miss the complete freedom I had in Montreal. Living alone and arranging everything around nobody else but me was liberating. I decide when I want to do the laundry. I decide what time I want to go to bed. I decide that I can have breakfast food for lunch everyday. I decide that I can live alone.
I loved the one-month old home we had in Glasgow. The long, long evenings, the daily walks along the river, the colds nights of us falling asleep next to each other, and then the simple act of drawing the blinds up in the morning. The redundancy of scheduling dates because we come home to each other. The thought of us, just us, living and building a life in another part of the world.
And then there were those days where we fall asleep in one city and wake up in another the next day. Those were the days where we live and breathe a whole new culture every single day. Those were the days we stood shoulder-to-shoulder on an unknown street corner, trying to read an unfamiliar map.
Those were the days… And now, back in Singapore, all I really want to do is to dive right back into those gorgeous photographs and relive those moments. Slowly, I find myself looking at cities in which we might build ourselves a home. Suddenly, I can’t wait to grow up. I can't wait to pack up all over again and find those pieces of my heart.
I don’t know if they’ll call this widening your horizons or withdrawal. I’d call it finding a new dream.
