In times of constantly wandering around, never settling down, always pressing the “live faster, live more intensely” button, the feeling of being “home” becomes very rare.
A feeling that seemed to be familiar, but transformed into an alien and unknown thing. Always seeking the next adventure, always being on the road. Everything changes and so did I.
After now a year of having moved out, it is nice every now and then to escape into your old world. A place where your current problems can’t come too close to you. It is a luxury to have this place to hide. Still, it does not completely feel like home. It feels like that weird escape in a world where you used to live in. It relives old memories, good and bad.
You live like you used to, just to realise that you’ve changed and you don’t fit in your old world anymore. That’s how life goes. We grow like beautiful flowers, it is as simple as that.
I took those pictures in a room in my parents house which is still my favourite there. This is where I used to dream. I loved all the antiques and old books in there, it was full of soul and passion. It used to be a separate flat, a few people must have lived in there, and I still wonder how this room has changed over the decades.
The room changed as the people who lived in it changed. My parents did a few changes over all the years. That’s how it works. Our internal worlds change, so we adapt our external interior to it.
Most importantly, however it may looked alike, it always gave people a feeling of belonging in there. It was filled up with the sound and passion of their souls.
In the end, we all will find our home someday, whether that will be four walls, in ourselves or in someone else. We’re all lost juveniles searching for a sense of belonging in a chaotic world.