Home

   Never did I imagine being "on my own" would feel this way. Here I am, in a new beautiful and busy city with my handsome and faithful boyfriend in a decent apartment without too many true "financial burdens." I don't have homework, I don't have a stressful job, and I don't have any restrictions.
   For years, probably ever since I was five, I imagined this time in my life differently. I think I pictured a beautiful spacious home complete with an affectionate boyfriend and nothing but the world in front of me. I had so much time to plan things, or really, just hope for things, that this vision I had became so beyond attainable that I'm realizing life is a let down. Or, it feels like a let down. I feel like a let down. I pictured myself to be someone totally different from who I am today. I envisioned this strong woman with a list of accomplishments- tangible accomplishments. I pictured this person who was already into her second year of college at some prestigious school somewhere making beautiful art or being a really great dancer or maybe living across the world doing something else equally fabulous. I pictured myself being and feeling free. I find myself sitting down, trying to write a list- a tangible list- of all my accomplishments and every time, I walk away frustrated because I cannot think of one thing I have accomplished in my life. To have fought so hard, and run so far and not be able to see or feel any of the reward is frustrating and I blame myself. In order to accomplish something, I now recognize, you need to have a certain amount of confidence and belief in yourself. In order to recognize your own accomplishments, you need to be able to see past the things you didn't or have not yet accomplished.
   I'm have this obsession with the idea of "home." What is a home? What separates the word "house" from "home?" I don't think I've got it down yet. I don't know where I get it from, but I think ever since I was  pretty young, I've loved all things interior-decorating. Whenever I would be upset or anxious, I would secretly move all the furniture in my room and hang and re-hang paintings and fabrics and create this little haven for myself. There were actually days, just after I re-did my room that I would fake being sick, just to enjoy my "new room." Well designed and loved spaces make me so beyond calm, it's ridiculous. My dad and I used to go to Santana Row together, all the time, just to visit Crate and Barrel and Pottery Barn- to me, those were the best times. My dad's this geeky Indian guy who doesn't really have much of a keen eye for anything, but when we would walk into a posh little furniture store and I would get all excited about whatever it was, he would get excited with me because he knew how much I loved all of it.
   It makes me pretty embarrassed to say- the highlight of my week, ever since I moved, is visiting Crate and Barrel. I think I go to C&B three or four times a week. I don't know that anybody else gets this way, but when I walk into Crate and Barrel, I get this kind of giddy feeling- like- "this could be me." A place where bedrooms are romantic, tables are set for family and friends, living rooms are cozy, and you are clearly financially comfortable. This is a place where people are happy and loved. I feel like a real creeper, walking around C&B all day- and a lot of the time, I come home and cry for a while, feeling sort of crushed by a combination of self hatred and stupid longing for something that doesn't exist. Something about being there and places like it just makes me so....disappointed. I guess I'm just disappointed with how life turned out? More accurately, I'm just so upset at all the things I know I can't get back, or I won't be getting. I think what home means to me is this place where family bonds and plays games by some perfect fire- where all these beautiful meals are had and memories are made and home is a place where you know you are loved. I don't really know where I got my interpretation of what a home should be, because reflecting on my own life, I've never truly felt at home- like I belong and I am loved.
   Living here in my 1 bedroom apartment, with my boyfriend and my cat, I feel differently than I thought I would feel. I thought the process of searching for "THE first apartment" and picking out all the furniture and the dish ware and the fabric and the tiny details would make me feel at home- like this is MY space and I can feel at peace and at home, but it really hasn't. I keep feeling like I picked the wrong apartment or I picked the wrong furniture or I picked the wrong city or I picked the wrong person to live with and I have to remind myself that it really isn't about any of those things. I think "home" is probably one of those "from within" things and right now, I am not a home for myself- if that translates like I want it to. Maybe that takes a while to create.