What a fool i was, what a dominated fool,
to think you were the earth and the sky;
what a fool i was, what an animated fool,
what a mutt-headed dolt was i.
No my reverberating friend,
you are not the beginning and the end.
There'll be spring every year without you,
England still will be here without you,
there'll be fruit on the tree and a shore by the sea,
there'll be crumpets and tea without you!
Art and music will thrive without you,
somehow Keats will survive without you,
and there still will be rain on that plain down in Spain,
even that will remain without you!
I can do, without you!
You dear friend who talks so well,
you can go to Hartford, Hereford and Hampshire!
They can still rule the land without you,
Windsor castle will stand without you,
and without much ado, we can all muddle through, without you!
Without your pulling it, the tide comes in,
without your twirling it, the Earth can spin,
without your pushing them, the clouds go by,
if they can do without you Ducky, so can i!
I shall not feel alone without you,
I can stand on my own without you,
so go back in your shell, I can do bloody well
Without you!!
Sunday, 29 June 2008
Saturday, 7 June 2008
Home
You can search the world for happiness, but the one place that you can really call your own is where you began.
This is what i was told last night, albeit after he had had quite a few drinks, but it rang very true. Plus, the fact that it came from someone who had been away from the land of his birth for a long time, made me think about it a little more than i normally would. I used to think i was being silly because every time i thought of home or found myself saying that i wanted to go home, the first place that came to mind was the house i've grown up, the place i've spent the largest part of my life so far. But then home for me isnt just the four walls of the flat, its also the people who live within those four walls who make the house a home.
Staying away, for the first year, it was almost impossible to call the room i lived in, home. It was always "i'm going back to my room", never "i'm going home".
Towards the end of the first year here, i moved out of the room and into a house with people i knew and liked. Still, calling it "home" was difficult, though it did seem to grow on me and around the end of my time there, Venneit became almost home, a place i'd want to go to, at the end of the day (but still, not for good).
Year 3 and so began the era of Cunliffe. It began badly, with a lot of things going very wrong, so it was almost like i didnt want to live there at all. Venneit seemed like a happier and more comfortable place to live in and it was more home than the new place. Perhaps it was just me getting used to the new place and coming to terms with the unexpected upheaval, but with time, this too began to feel more warm and comfortable and the couch slowly took the shape i'd want it to have. But as all good things come to an end, so did the era of Cunliffe and i had to move, yet again. By now, the streets of the city, the trees and corners have become a part of life and it seems almost natural to be here, but again, there isnt a place here i can truly call home.Cunliffe, that was ours, was the place i'd really want to go after a horrible day and feel secure (as much as is possible here), suddenly ceased to exist. The house that we'd walk into without a second thought now belonged to someone else and didnt feel like ours at all! It was closure of the worst kind, and hell, it hurt.
Am back to living in a "room", but now, even the room doesnt feel like my own and in all honestly, i've been avoiding going back to it until the day is really over and there isnt much else to do except sleep.
Maybe home is where there is a familiar face that you can talk at (not always necessarily to), perhaps its a place you're used to and know where all the light switches are, maybe it is where you feel you've made your own niche, i still am looking for it here.
Another interesting point of view i heard was that home is where you find that someone special. Maybe thats why first Venneit and the Cunliffe became home or maybe it was i really liked the people i lived with and it was their friendship and the affection of that someone special that, put together, came close to being what home really feels like.
still, the search continues....
This is what i was told last night, albeit after he had had quite a few drinks, but it rang very true. Plus, the fact that it came from someone who had been away from the land of his birth for a long time, made me think about it a little more than i normally would. I used to think i was being silly because every time i thought of home or found myself saying that i wanted to go home, the first place that came to mind was the house i've grown up, the place i've spent the largest part of my life so far. But then home for me isnt just the four walls of the flat, its also the people who live within those four walls who make the house a home.
Staying away, for the first year, it was almost impossible to call the room i lived in, home. It was always "i'm going back to my room", never "i'm going home".
Towards the end of the first year here, i moved out of the room and into a house with people i knew and liked. Still, calling it "home" was difficult, though it did seem to grow on me and around the end of my time there, Venneit became almost home, a place i'd want to go to, at the end of the day (but still, not for good).
Year 3 and so began the era of Cunliffe. It began badly, with a lot of things going very wrong, so it was almost like i didnt want to live there at all. Venneit seemed like a happier and more comfortable place to live in and it was more home than the new place. Perhaps it was just me getting used to the new place and coming to terms with the unexpected upheaval, but with time, this too began to feel more warm and comfortable and the couch slowly took the shape i'd want it to have. But as all good things come to an end, so did the era of Cunliffe and i had to move, yet again. By now, the streets of the city, the trees and corners have become a part of life and it seems almost natural to be here, but again, there isnt a place here i can truly call home.Cunliffe, that was ours, was the place i'd really want to go after a horrible day and feel secure (as much as is possible here), suddenly ceased to exist. The house that we'd walk into without a second thought now belonged to someone else and didnt feel like ours at all! It was closure of the worst kind, and hell, it hurt.
Am back to living in a "room", but now, even the room doesnt feel like my own and in all honestly, i've been avoiding going back to it until the day is really over and there isnt much else to do except sleep.
Maybe home is where there is a familiar face that you can talk at (not always necessarily to), perhaps its a place you're used to and know where all the light switches are, maybe it is where you feel you've made your own niche, i still am looking for it here.
Another interesting point of view i heard was that home is where you find that someone special. Maybe thats why first Venneit and the Cunliffe became home or maybe it was i really liked the people i lived with and it was their friendship and the affection of that someone special that, put together, came close to being what home really feels like.
still, the search continues....
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