My safe haven: a shelter. Having a home that feels like home is of the upmost importance to me. I always felt it was the foundation of my comforts. My mom created a warm energy at home, as a child, I felt safe. I grew to crave that safety for myself, away from the troubles of the outside. A grounding space where the outside world couldn't reach me.
I spent all of my educational years going to the westside and back. If I can briefly paint a picture in your mind: that means waking up at 5 am in elementary and middle school to take the 405 to Santa Monica, waking up early to go to the family friends house that was between home and school to carpool with the other kids, taking 3 buses to Venice and 3 buses back to Koreatown in high school, taking the early morning bus until I saw the big blue bus. You know you're on the westside if you see the big blue bus. I spent a lot of time away from home and a heck of a lot of hours in buses.
In places where moments flew by, sitting in transitional passings of time. You exhaust yourself commuting to and from places so much that craving a comfortable home becomes easy. Now, im 25 years old and ive only been in transitional homes throughout my adulthood already, never resting long enough to unpack the physical boxes that carry my life in them.
I remember every year, telling myself id be out of my moms house by a certain age. Every year it wasn't happening would add weight and pressure to my livelihood. Without realizing, as I started panicking less about my living situation, things began to move on their own. It’s important to remember not to add that pressure to ourselves, our time for moments are meant to happen naturally. However hard or easy it may be.
And now I'm able to sit and feel safe, in my own home smoking a spliff, drinking a coffee and writing about my space, my safe haven. My boxes are unpacked, the sun is starting to peak through the blinds in the living room, the birds are singing early tunes, and calmness travels through the apartment. My safe haven: My Daze: home. It is strange to be past a feeling that you can so deeply remember. Feeling stuck, feeling like you’re in a cage. As time passes, so do our experiences and circumstances.
In my Daze is a series of thoughts, in introspection.
