Ikigai
Young Minds of Medium My Home
[ik — ee — guy] •Japanese• A reason for being; the thing that gets you up in the morning.
Home is a heart that beats
Red skies wrapped in a person
Two, three
A wakeup call
A soul slipping through cracks if not for
a silhouette carried across rivers
breathing blue
My city is not of bricks and stones
But serenity folded so tenderly in bones
Sometimes clothed in a stranger name
And when dusk greets dawn
bricks do fall,
But my city lives forever
Brimming with passions
And a love that goes beyond the horizon.
Home is where we can breathe, isn’t it? Initially, I thought of this challenge and couldn’t answer one question . . . Where do I live? That’s easy. But what fascinates me most about where I live? I thought so long about this. My favorite place, how do I spend my time . . . no matter how fast I willed the gears in my mind to shift, the very same answer came up — people. Observing fascinates me. How our universes clash, stories touching . . . and I realised my home, in the plainest–perhaps silliest– way put, is people. Familiar . . . and at moments, strangers.
Passions build my city. Me. You. We may exist on opposite sides of the earth but this city embraces us both. Our bodies exist in different timezones but there our minds wander, staring up to the sky — thought for thought. And we speak the very same language: Love. Our universal remedy.
