Where the heart is.. Here's what I believe:

'Where The Heart Is'.

Another book. Another book on my shelf that I haven't read yet. I've started it, but never finished it,- like many other things in my life.

The amount of times I have prayed to get a possibility to prove myself to others.. The amount of times I actually got those possibilities and then just wasn't able to finish what I started..

When do I begin to count? Where is the line that society has secretly drawn to keep us within our own boundaries actually drawn? From what age on is this line sensible to us and when do the things we do, start to count? At what age becomes this line visible to us, poor creatures of the living world?

Which situations really make us who we are?

I have told myself that I do not regret. I do not regret anything,- I care, but never forget that every hard situation will make me harder than I was before. I believe that, the weaker you start, the stronger you'll finish. I know that every runner sometimes needs a break to breathe and to stretch his muscles, just like I believe that slow walkers aren't necessarily in bad shape.

But when do we find out all these things? Why did we stop running? Why did we start? What happens to us that makes us so miserable that we start thinking of who we are and why?

What happened to me?

No more lies.

I've lied too often to myself. I have literally said that I put on a show for everyone around me (especially when I was anorexic), except for myself. I have said, both out loud and in my head, that the mask I was wearing, was only to be taken off by me. I have spoken about knowing myself.

But with faking my identity.. With faking emotions when I felt numb as a rock, wet and cold by the salty water of the sea.. I lost my inner me,- I lost a part of me. With putting up a show for others, I closed the curtains for myself.

And the mask I was wearing, wouldn't come off one day. I don't know when, but at some point I started believing my fake emotions and as soon as I noticed that they weren't real I felt great, because I found out that I could delude myself and start believing whatever I wanted to believe. I noticed I was lying to myself; as I put on the mask for everyone to look at, including myself. After a while, I forgot to notice. I forgot who I was,- who I wanted to be.

As soon as one claims to know him- or herself, that person clearly does not know what he or she is talking about. I do not know myself, but I do dream. I dream of waking up one day, alone, with a smile on my face, being happy with the words 'I am me'. I dream of those three little words. I dream of them being sufficient.

I do not believe in happiness. I believe in life. I believe that we are supposed to be unhappy, so we can appreciate those little moments of happiness, which life consists of. It aren't the tiny moments of happiness that make us who we are; it are the moments in which hope is the last thing we can hope for,- it's the moments we find that hope, the moments we get through to reach a candle of happiness, to lit it with the hope we found.

Those sparks.. They make us who we are.

At this very moment, I am going to try to enjoy every minute I have. It doesn't matter if I die in a car accident or when I'm 84 years old, or because the doors of a train closed too quickly and I got squished in between them. Or because I choked on a pea.

I don't care.

As long as I don't have to consider the option of lying, when I'm asked if I'd done everything I wanted to do before leaving life forever. I don't think I could bare another lie.

There is so much I want to do. There is so much I want to give.

And there are so many things.. So many sentences, left unsaid. So many matters, left undone.

I still have to wake up one day, alone, with a smile on my face, being happy with the words 'I am me'. I still dream of those three little words. I still dream of them being sufficient.

Let my heart be where I am. Because I am where my heart is.