The search for home

My story begins in a little city near Los Angeles. I was 15 minutes away from the beach, the airport and Hollywood. Mountains were just an hour away and the Mexican border was a two hour drive. I had it all, but still I dreamed.

As a first generation child of a Mexican father and a Salvadoran mother, I was sheltered. The Latino culture was prominent in my daily life as well as the American pop culture. I loved eating quesadillas, watching novellas and playing loteria. But I couldn’t deny that I also loved listening to 90’s pop music, watching reruns of Married with Children and eating boxed Kraft Mac & Cheese. My diverse interests made me feel different. I wasn’t accepted unless I spoke my family’s language; the language of obedience.

As time went on, my interests became pushed down. I wore many hats for many people. For my family I was a conservative, bilingual catholic Latina. For my friends a boy crazy, tube top wearing, social butterfly. The hats continued to change the older I became. My coworkers, romantic partners and clients only knew who I was pretending to be; if put in the same a room, they wouldn’t be speaking of the same person. I wanted to fit in, to be accepted and to be loved. To find my home.

At 22, I found myself dreaming of experiencing new places. I questioned religion, sexuality and life purpose. The answers needed to be explored. So I packed my bags and found excuses to travel. I slept on the couches in the homes of various strangers and met people that were different from the norm I knew. I trusted many without question and created a lifestyle that my parents called unstable. Why travel? My father asked. It’s the same everywhere you go. I traveled, regardless.

Traveling was exhilarating. I felt a spiritual connection at the Grand Canyon, partied until 4am in Times Square and felt the smooth white sand from Miami Beach. Life couldn’t get better than this. I felt invincible until I didn’t. Eventually, I had a knock at the door. It was reality. The reality of dangers, pain and regret. What was I doing? I thought. Was I lost? I wanted to go home but, I still couldn’t find it.

So, I decided to stay put. No more traveling. I stayed in my hometown, became a Christian, got into a relationship and worked 7 days a week. If I couldn’t find home might as well stay busy. Make money. Chase my dance dream. Maybe get married one day. Be who I think I should be so that I can be accepted. How bad could it be?

I pushed forward; living a life that wasn’t mine. I moved from apartment to apartment each one the same as the last: chaotic, toxic and depressing. Until the day came that life revealed itself to me. It was in a dream. I saw a beautiful walkway filled with beautiful bright green leaves and tall trees. I was standing in a room with a glass sliding door. There was a breeze that came in and it felt peaceful; nothing like I had felt before. I was surrounded by a few people who I didn’t know but somehow I knew we shared love for one another. We were laughing as we told our stories. I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness. It was beautiful and hopeful. Could this be my next stop? Or was It just a dream?

Unknowingly, the next stage in my life would change me forever. First I had to surrender. My form of surrender felt as if I had given up. The dream I had didn’t seem promising; just a glimpse of my imagination. My sense of self was nonexistent. My hopes for a brighter future diminished and my search for a home no longer drove me. The closest thing to a home was a bar. My therapist was the bartender and alcohol was the love of my life.

I can’t remember the days leading up to October 27th. Time meshed into moments. Before I knew it, I was heading out to a place that my family mentioned would be a temporary space that was an hour way. When I arrived, I became suspicious. It looked like a put together house but I didn’t recognize it. I walked in, with a bag of full essentials and a couple changes of clothes. I was greeted left and right, took a tour of the place, then got stripped of my phone and tweezers. Where the hell am I? I asked. The tour guide replied: “Honey, you’re in rehab. Now, drink this glass of water. I need to drug test you before the end of the day.”

Was I infuriated? Absolutely. At first, I couldn’t believe this was my temporary home. My search for a home and drive to achieve something worth while had shattered along side my self worth. It took some time to accept where I had landed but after I fought through the withdraws, I gave in. Rehab grew on me. Homemade meals, new friendships with women that had similar stories and the majestic view of the mountains sparked something within me. It somehow reminded me of the dream I had. Could this actually be my home? Not yet but my soul was leading the way.

The spark I had felt was the key to the light at the end of the tunnel. It was time to follow it and travel once more. So I sat at the foot of my bed, closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. As the stillness sunk in I could feel my heartbeat. It beat to the sound of my footsteps traveling back in time. I traveled into the depths of the ocean, picking up pieces of me along the way. I felt anger, fear, sadness, regret, content, hope, joy and peace. Every morning I traveled a little further than the day before, exploring and discovering life like I had never done before. I was floating. I had let go. Until eventually I discovered something extraordinary: love.

This love was for me. I was emotional for weeks. I felt safe, secure and free. After all this time, I found what I was looking for. I was finally home. The many roads I traveled, the people I met, and the endless mistakes I made, were the compass that pointed me home. Home was not a place. It was within me all along.

It’s been two years since I found my home and since then, it has expanded. Last year, I celebrated my 32nd birthday with my partner, by taking a scenic hike that led into a Japanese garden. It took us about an hour to reach it; admiring the scenery along the way. Once we reached what seemed like the top of the mountain, we were taken by what we saw. Tall trees surrounding a lotus filled lake and bright green leaves rustling through the light breeze. It was a work of art. As we walked deeper into the garden, we found a path that led us to a hidden cave. Curious to see what may be inside we walked in and saw a secret gem that wasn’t mentioned on the website: a waterfall.

A sense of peace came over me as I reached my hand out to feel the cooling flow of the water. It reminded me of my journey and the awakening I experienced. The many roads I walked on, leading me to a cave such as this; opening up the possibly to travel further into the depth of my own ocean. How funny, I thought. What we search for isn’t outside of us but rather within us. If we take a moment to be still we can hear it. It calls for us when we are lost or comforts us when we feel alone. It whispers us to sleep, cradling us back and forth. Its safe and loving. It’s where we feel free. My partner interrupted my daydreaming by putting her hand on my shoulder. “Babe, are you ready to go home?” She asked. “My love”, I replied “I’m already here.”