The echo of my lost home

When I close my eyes, the silence screams at me. It screams memories that I try to embrace but always slip through my fingers. There’s a warm light in that silence, a soft breeze, a scent I can’t describe but burns in my chest as if it were everything I’m missing. I miss my home. I miss my mom.

I came here with hands full of dreams, my heart beating faster than I could count. But with each sunrise, those dreams began to transform. They lost their colors and shapes until they became shadows. I kept running after them, trying to remember why they were so important.

There are days when my mind betrays me. It reflects what I left behind: a voice that soothes, a laugh that heals, a hug that stops time. But when I open my eyes, it all fades away. And I’m here, in this place I once thought would be mine, but now feels so foreign.

The nights are the hardest. I feel like a boat in the middle of an endless ocean. I hear echoes of words that used to give me strength, but now only make me more aware of the distance. I wonder if those words remember me as I remember them.

I miss my home. I miss my mom. Her voice was my refuge, her laughter my shield against the world. Now, in this place full of noise, everything sounds empty because she isn’t here.

There’s something strange about all of this. I’m not sure if I miss what was or what I dreamed it would be. Maybe I miss a version of myself that never existed, one where sacrifice didn’t weigh so much, where loneliness didn’t speak so loudly.

Today, the air feels heavier. I don’t know if it’s me who has changed or if the world around me has decided to turn its back. But in the middle of this darkness, there’s a spark. One I can’t extinguish. One that reminds me that even though I feel lost, there’s something inside me still searching.

I don’t know if I’ll find what I’m looking for, but if I ever return, I want them to know that I never stopped hearing the echo of what made me who I am. And even though it seems like I’m falling today, I hope that echo will help me find my way back to myself.

Comments

The Beauty of adaptation

Stepping into a new work environment was like walking into an unfamiliar landscape. Everything around me felt different—the sounds, the pace, the tools I was expected to use. It wasn’t the kind of work I had imagined myself doing, and yet, there I was. The comfort of what I once knew seemed miles away, replaced by the challenge of the unknown. At first, it was overwhelming. My hands weren’t used to this kind of labor, my mind wasn’t accustomed to the routines and patterns I was learning. But with every passing day, something shifted. I began to understand the rhythm of the work, the flow of tasks that seemed so foreign at first. Slowly, I realized that I wasn’t just adapting to the job; I was becoming part of it. The simplicity of the tasks began to reveal a beauty I hadn’t expected. There was something satisfying about mastering each step, about contributing to a larger process. I found myself looking forward to the challenges, knowing that each new hurdle was an opportunity to learn ...

The Art of flowing with change

When I found myself immersed in this unfamiliar environment, I knew it wouldn't be easy. The shadows of uncertainty surrounded me, and with every step, I felt the weight of doubt. But there was something that kept me going: the conviction that, no matter what happened, I could adapt. On the first day, everything was foreign to my senses. The shapes, sounds, and dynamics there seemed completely different from what I knew. I felt like a stranger in a new world, but I knew that giving up was not an option. So I allowed myself to make mistakes and learn at my own pace. It was then that I discovered something essential: it wasn't about being the best at that moment, but about embracing the process. Over time, I learned to observe carefully and to listen attentively. It wasn't a matter of being the strongest, but of being flexible, of molding myself and flowing with what the environment offered me. Adapting didn't mean giving up who I was, but expanding it, enr...

Solitude amid the celebration

The lights flickered insistently, casting fleeting shadows on the walls that felt more alive than the people around me. The colors danced in vibrant hues, yet they couldn’t warm the air. Everything in this scene was crafted to evoke joy, yet my chest felt like an empty drawer no one had bothered to fill. I’ve never felt as if I belonged here. Faces came and went, some with smiles that never reached their eyes, others with kind words wrapped in velvet but sharp as knives. I feel like a complete stranger surrounded by people I cannot trust. How many of those glances were genuine attempts to connect? How many were simply pretending because that’s what we’re supposed to do during these festive days? I tried distracting myself with the decorations on the table: the sparkle of glassware, the sweet aroma rising from the dishes, the candles flickering in rhythm with conversations I couldn’t understand or care to. But at its core, everything felt like a theater, and I was merely a spectat...

Stories with copywriting: A journey into the unknown

Search This Blog