In Motion
Always leaving, never arriving
Always leaving.
Never arriving.
Leaving loved ones, for another set of loved ones,
ideas for ideas,
dreams for dreams,
shedding them like old skin.
For a moment, I fool myself.
I’ve arrived.
Then—
a rubber band stretched to its breaking point,
tight, trembling,
until it gives.
Until I give.
Duty calls,
pulls me back like gravity.
Again.
Again.
Back to where I swore I’d never return.
Memories flood.
Laughter weaves through the air,
old voices filling the gaps in my day.
And for a while, I let the past drown me.
Maybe it is that feeling of surrender,
that illusion of belonging.
Then, the war with words begins.
The trigger—
sweat and grime from a billion bodies fighting to survive,
a parent who needs more,
the seduction of invisibility,
the shedding of privilege,
the pull of control over my own fate.
The mind has made its choice.
The heart craves the journey.
And so I leave again.
Only to start again.
A cycle as relentless as the earth’s orbit.
Sometimes, I wonder—
is the sun pulling me,
or is it just watching me spin?
I have never left.
I will never arrive.
I move.
I move.
I move.
And somehow,
I have already arrived.
Backstory: In Motion
There’s a strange feeling that comes with living between two places—two worlds that claim you, yet neither fully yours.
You leave, only to return. You return, only to leave again.
At first, you think you’ve arrived. The familiar streets, the laughter of old friends, the weight of memories settling on your skin like dust. For a while, it feels like home. But then, something shifts—a pull, a restlessness, a voice whispering that you don’t quite belong.
So you leave again, chasing the comfort of the other home, the one you built, the one that still feels unfinished. And when you get there, the cycle begins again.
Maybe home isn’t a place. Maybe it’s motion. Maybe you were never meant to arrive at all.