Her eyes...they know too much

In between the space of who you are and who you want to be
WARNING: random thoughts about what the hell I'm doing with my life and what it all means.

After my experience studying abroad I know first hand how fast the time can go and how quickly you feel you have lost everything you just made. So going into this opportunity to create a life in Ireland has put me in a really unsteady, and for lack of a better word, funny mind frame. Not only do I know how fast my months will go, but how broken hearted and misplaced I will feel when I return home. But then again...where is home to me?

I've realized within the last eight years that home isn't a building, not a room you have always grown up in or an object. If that was the case my family would be basically screwed since everyone knows how often the Flores family shifts around. So in my defense I've decided home is a place where you are always welcome, where a part of your heart will always sit. Where a bottle of wine will be waiting for you, a dog will be jumping up and down to see you, where you create lifetime college memories, blow bubbles in the living room, catch flies out of a car or simply find comfort with the person who is sitting with you. So you see, when I'm "home" I never feel content because home to me is Palos Verdes, San Diego, Chico, Maryland, Monterey, SLO, LA, Australia, Sacramento, a dirt road off highway 99, a dark basement in Tehama Hall, Tahoe, Walmart and every place in between. I feel like I have to be in all places at once to feel complete, to feel like me. Feel like everything and one who makes up who I am is with me.

I'm not sure what it is about traveling abroad but it's like once I leave the country where everyone I love is-and I'm completely alone, that I start to feel relaxed. It's like I can finally escape a town of quicksand. Maybe I'm just suppose to keep moving, keep drifting with the wind until it blows me back at the right time. Where my life finally falls into place and makes sense. I'm tired of 'bad timing' and maybe this is my escape until it catches up to me. Some alternative time warp I'll stumble across and when I enter everyone is there waiting; waiting to say "about freaking time."

Then again, maybe I'll always feel like running; running away from things I can't decribe and running toward things I can't see. If I don't return you can find me wandering; searching for a treasure I may never find, like a pirate on the run.