Skip to content

Home is where the heart is

October 6, 2013

Written earlier today…

As I am typing this, I am flying high above the clouds–literally. I just spent three nights at home, and now, I am returning to Montréal. I was just thinking five minutes ago that I feel as though I am flying to heaven.

The weather in Toronto today is quite dreary: overcast with the slight pitter-patter of rain, but after we broke through the nimbostratus clouds, everything was wonderful. Everything is wonderful. Everything is white with a slight shade of blue. I, myself, am wearing blue today. I always do when it’s dreary out. I don’t do it on purpose; it just happens to work out that way. Perhaps it is because dreary weather makes me feel blue.

Atop the clouds, life seems most wonderful. How can things possibly be horrible from up here? You are perpetually distracted by the brightness. I feel as though I am flying to heaven

But then I remember that I am only going back to Montréal and that even worst, I am leaving Toronto, my home.

It was late in the evening when I flew into Toronto on Thursday. Some of the areas we flew over barely had any lights compared to the more populace areas with grids and grids of lights. When we flew over the areas with sparse lighting, I felt as though I were flying over a constellation of stars. It was utterly magical.   I was atop the milky way galaxy. I’d say it was even more magical than flying above the clouds now.

What was even more magical was when Toronto came into view. My face was pressed up against the window for a considerable amount of time after the Captain had announced that we were shortly going to land. Logic dictated that if we were going to land soon, Toronto would also soon come in sight; yet, it was nowhere to be seen! All I could see was darkness.

That was when the plane did a 180 turn, and I realized that I was just on the opposite side–that Toronto was just on the opposite side. When my city came into view, I took a deep breath and smiled: My Home, I had whispered under my breath.

I’m still so glad that I came into the city at night: it was more magical that way. I’d imagine that what also made it so magical was because I was listening to Dvorak’s “Songs My Mother Taught Me.”

My week-end at home was fantastic and quite productively actually. I maximized my socializing time and was able to see most of my close friends. I’m glad for it. The week-end felt long, yet it went by in a blur. But that’s the thing with life: it goes by so quickly and without your noticing. I remember waking up the first morning at home (Friday) and looking out my window at the yellow tree across the street. I asked myself where it had come from, for it surely was not there when I had left home a month ago. Then I remembered that the leaves of the tree had been green when I left, and time had simply turn the leaves yellow. During the little alone time I had this week-end at home, I marveled at the changes in my city. The colour pallet had changed, and although I felt a pang for the summer that had just passed, I was transported back to last October when I had just arrived home after deciding to take a break from school. I pretended that I was last-year me and not this-year me. I tried to conjure up those old feelings of how I used to feel, but I couldn’t. I walked by a lawn full of tall daisies and was glad that they still managed to survive in this cold and dreary weather, and in that moment, I knew that I would always too.

I am not terribly sad to be returning to Montréal although I’m not thrilled about it. The good thing is it has nothing to do with school nor does it have anything to do with my “Montréal life”: I’m enjoying my courses immensely, and I adore the friends I have here. I am only not thrilled to return to Montréal because that means leaving Toronto behind.

It’s funny really. Before university, I never thought myself as a “homebody.” I was dying to get out. I didn’t think that I would become so attached to Toronto. Yet now, an invisible chord ties me to that place…. More importantly, an invisible chord ties me to the people of that place: my friends, my family, my coffee shop acquaintances.

And now, as we fly in between clouds, I can see patchworks of the city that has been my place of residence for three years. It has been my place of residence, yes. But it has not been my home. And my home, it will never be.

It’s true what Plinius said: home is where the heart is.

Another beautiful version of Dvorak’s “Songs My Mother Taught Me” with voice:

No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: