{"id":14,"date":"2016-07-14T02:28:51","date_gmt":"2016-07-14T02:28:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mervealadag.com\/?page_id=14"},"modified":"2025-08-06T11:38:53","modified_gmt":"2025-08-06T08:38:53","slug":"contact-us","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.mervealadag.com\/?page_id=14","title":{"rendered":"Where My Mind Speaks My Soul"},"content":{"rendered":"

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The Other Home<\/h5>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>
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Some days, the silence in my apartment feels louder than the city itself.<\/p>\n

I wake up to the soft hum of the AC and the distant buzz of traffic outside my 12th-floor window. Everything is in its place \u2014 spotless counter, skin serums lined like soldiers. My phone lights up with calendar invites before I even get out of bed.<\/p>\n

Dubai is beautiful or is it just my only option to think it is. It’s fast, shiny, and always moving. Like me, I never stop searching, moving one place to another.. never settled.<\/p>\n

After work, I took the long way home in crazy heat, hoping the skyline might distract me. But even the neon glow of towers felt hollow tonight. I ordered food I didn\u2019t really want and sat by the window, staring out. Wondering if\u00a0 the lucky version of me is cuddling tonight while I am lonely with the “freedom” and “options”..<\/p>\n

I crave intimacy so much it scares me. Someone knowing me when I\u2019m not performing. Someone who sees me when I\u2019m quiet. Someone who doesn’t ask what I do, but asks how I feel \u2014 and stays for the answer. I feel like being pure soul is a curse here. People surprise to see how that person stays nice, pure, natural and kind.. They like the fake, the selfish, the toxic.. They think deserve it while I started to belive I am not fitting this society 100%..<\/p>\n

Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend I\u2019m her. That the kids are asleep upstairs. That the man I love is sitting beside me, reading. That the only light in the room is from a fireplace, not my phone screen. And then I open my eyes and remember \u2014 I\u2019m here. Alone. In this curated life that I built and can\u2019t breathe inside.<\/p>\n

But I see her. And even though we may never meet, I hope she\u2019s happy. I hope she feels loved. Because if she is, then maybe… some part of me is, too.<\/p>\n

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The Quiet Noise Between Universes<\/h5>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>
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Sometimes, around 3:17 a.m., the silence in my apartment hums.
Not with traffic or humming appliances,
but with the low, aching frequency of other versions of me<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

They bleed through the walls of this universe \u2014
like ghosts brushing against the veil of my skin.
I don\u2019t hear their voices.
I feel<\/em> them.
Like a dream you wake up from, gasping, but can\u2019t remember why.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s one version of me \u2014 let\u2019s call her M.
She lives in a small town near a forest.
She paints on weekends,
laughs over candlelit dinners with her husband who always puts his hand on the small of her back \u2014
like he\u2019s reminding her she\u2019s safe, she\u2019s seen, she\u2019s his.
They have two kids who sneak into bed on stormy nights.
Her house smells like cinnamon and pine.<\/p>\n

And when I cry for no reason on a sunny Tuesday,
I think it\u2019s her.
Maybe she lost a baby.
Maybe he forgot her birthday this year.
Or maybe \u2014 and this hurts more \u2014
maybe she\u2019s just happy, and I felt the absence of it.<\/p>\n

Then there\u2019s another me.
She lives in a neon-lit future where cities float above the clouds,
and love is forbidden \u2014 classified as a dangerous emotional contagion.
But still, she risks everything for a guy with silver eyes
and a voice like wind chimes in zero gravity.
They meet in secret on derelict satellites,
where time doesn\u2019t move, and no one can trace a heartbeat.
Sometimes I wake up choking on air like I\u2019ve just kissed someone in a place that doesn\u2019t exist.<\/p>\n

When my chest feels heavy, when loneliness curls under my ribs like smoke \u2014
I think it\u2019s them, bleeding into me.<\/p>\n

But here\u2019s the strangest thing.<\/p>\n

They feel me too.<\/strong>
The one who chose freedom.
The one who never settled.
The one who still believes in miracles at train stations and kisses before earthquakes.
The one who hasn\u2019t given up \u2014 even when it would be easier.<\/p>\n

Maybe they feel me and cry,
just like I do for them.<\/p>\n

And maybe that\u2019s what makes us whole \u2014
not the love we\u2019ve found,
but the love we still believe is waiting for us
across time, across stars, across infinite versions of who we almost were<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

So tonight, when I cry quietly into my pillow,
I whisper to them:<\/p>\n

“I see you. I miss you. I\u2019m trying for both of us.”<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>

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A Soul with No Borders, A Heart with No Anchor<\/strong><\/h5>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>
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There are souls born with compass needles for hearts. They point not North, but elsewhere\u2014always elsewhere. These are the wanderlusted and the wild-hearted, the ones who collect cities instead of jewelry, and memories instead of milestones. Their minds are canvases smeared with stardust, their spirits stitched with maps. They are born to move, to marvel, to seek\u2014but never to stay.<\/p>\n

Yet in this endless motion, there is a quiet ache.<\/p>\n

For while the world is wide and wonder is everywhere, belonging is not. No city whispers welcome home, no lover speaks in the same language of layered thoughts and kaleidoscopic dreams. The creative soul sees too much, feels too deeply, and suffers silently. Love often slips through their fingers like sand\u2014 never enough to build something real.<\/p>\n

The people around them? Too often made of cardboard smiles and empty talk. Parties with shallow laughter, conversations without color. The vibrant soul becomes a moon among streetlights\u2014bright, but not belonging.<\/p>\n

Sylvia Plath once wrote,
\n\u201cI can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter\u2014 they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.\u201d<\/p>\n

And for many of us, that desire is connection.
\nEven in solitude, we crave someone who sees the constellations in our chaos.
\nBut most are too busy to look up.<\/p>\n

So we go on.
\nPacking light.
\nLeaving fragments of ourselves in caf\u00e9s and train stations,
\nfilling journals instead of hearts,
\nand learning, over time, that perhaps the journey was always the home.<\/p>\n

And though the loneliness bites,
\nthe sky still sings.
\nAnd that\u2019s enough\u2014for now.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

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