"Borta bra men hemma bäst"
A Swedish proverb meaning, "Away is good, but home is best."
Which begs the question: Where is home? That's a concept quite lost on me. Is my home here? Am I away from my home? When I'm in the United States, am I away, or have I "come" home? Theoretically, of course, this is my home, but why do I feel like I'm not at home? I feel like I visiting, as if I'm waiting to "go home," wherever that might be. Constantly waiting, waiting. Why can't I simply live, instead? There's a string holding me. I can't let go. Why allow other people's presumed judgement of me control how I feel, think, react. Why bother at all? What about the law of dependence? We/I live in the world. On whom am I dependent if people ignore me in my daily basis? This makes me aloof, but does it can it make me dependent when there's nothing being provided, other than a lack of....
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