Friendship

So lately I’ve been making a lot of realizations/discoveries about myself and the things I value in life. As I was thinking about this one day, I realized that friendship is something way bigger than I thought it was, and I wanted to monumentalize (is that a word??) this large taken-for-granted thing in my life. The first time I found out that friendship went way deeper than being acquainted with someone and hanging out with them was during my TPS France missions trip last summer. So here’s a video of me talking about that:

 

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Someone

I miss someone being there.

To hold my hand, to walk with me. I miss someone being there for me to talk with. For me to check in on. Someone being there to check in on me. I miss being surrounded by people. Good quality humans. People that I love. I miss the joy that all of these souls would give me. I miss all of the intricacies of the human life and mind coursing through my brain and into my veins until I forgot who I was.

I miss the smell of France.

I miss the temperature of the big white hall of the church.

I miss the times when we resorted to using humans to build ladders, tables, and to spell words.

I miss everyone’s voice. The different underlying textures; the rasps, the sweet high-pitched swallowing sound of the vocal chords. I miss my little brother and my older brother that I didn’t know I had until a month ago. I miss both of them. I miss the day when I discovered that I possessed more freedom than I thought I did. That day when I figured I could be myself; be my own person and no one could stop me. No one would know the difference.

Everything was new and felt like an excuse to feel the wind in my hair and the breath in my lungs.

I felt like I could paint my portrait anyway I wanted to.

I took care to apply all of the right colors in broad brushstrokes until my masterpiece was complete.

And then realizing that the hand holding the paintbrush wasn’t my own.

I miss someone being there and painting along with me.

Living Out of a Suitcase

Imagine leaving. Leaving home. With a suitcase clutched firmly in your hands.

The only cords you have attaching you to everything you feel comfortable with fit into a convenient box you haul around. Your past life has become quite personified into a three-dimensional shape. It’s frightening to hold everything that you’ve ever felt comfortable with in your hands. And yet it’s freeing as well. For then you have the ability to simply let go and let it all trickle through your fingers into the unknown.

Forcing your mental cage into something that you can see and touch makes you realize just how big the world is and how many people are living in it. The freedom that living out of a suitcase brings is hard to describe. It enhances an attitude of indifference towards the daily decisions of life and yet packs a pungent punch of reality in it’s cloth compartments.

Packing a suitcase is sometimes like packing your worries away; knowing that you will unfold all of these troubles later as you fold up your shirts is a way to remain sane in this confusing world.

The ability to zip up the tangible representation of your home and comfortable life and leave it zipped up somewhere where it won’t follow you around is extremely refreshing.

It makes you feel alone in the world, but it allows you to open up your view of what the world actually is.

Living out of a suitcase is practical, forces one to prioritize, and frees one from cluttering thoughts.

It bequeaths one with a feeling of invincibility and an eager excitement for the world ahead.

It forges a path of new experiences, friendships, and thoughts.

Living this way shifts the focus off of oneself and onto others. It changes the view from possessions to experiences. From things to memories. From your own house to new places.

Living out of a suitcase makes you realize that we’re all in the same boat. We’re all actually lost and don’t have complete control over our lives.

We’re all trying.

We’re all breathing.

We’re all living out of a suitcase.