When people talk about comfort, they often describe warm homes, soft beds, or familiar faces. Albeit these are the norms and yes, the norms I appreciate, I have a slightly different opinion of what a place of comfort is for me. My type of comfort doesn’t really come suited in all those brightness. I find it, strangely enough, in melancholy.
Don’t get it twisted…
I’ve never been the type to keep many friends. My circle has always been small, in fact right now, I think what I have are more or less acquaintances. This is not because I don’t long for connection, but because I’ve found that trust comes at a really steep price. Even at home, with my parents, comfort has often come with caution. They love me, yes, but in their strictness, fragility lies. One deep thing I share with them can be brought up days later and weaponized in a moment of discipline or disagreement. And things like that hurt deeply. So I learned early that not every thought deserved to be spoken aloud, not every feeling had a safe landing place.
And boom, the only person I could trust and tell was myself and that’s how I romanticized my moments of melancholy. It became that quiet, less judgmental companion. It always welcomes me in those moments when I can’t bare or should I say dissect myself to others. This might come off as strange to some, but trust me there is a gentle comfort in that solitude.
Melancholy is not sadness, not exactly. To me, it is that quiet in-between space where the world happens to just slow down, where silence feels weighty but sacred. There, I don’t rush or fear. I become soft. More attentive. I just sit with my thoughts. I let memories, both sweet and bitter, wash over me. And in that same stillness, I find a comfort that no physical place, or human has ever given me.
It’s in those reflective moments that I realign myself. Melancholy to me feels like pulling apart the threads of my emotions and weaving them back together in a way that makes sense to me. It teaches me to embrace both joy and grief, to understand that one does not exist without the other.
You know how a shade under a tree feels on a very hot day? Trust you get the picture, that’s exactly how it feels. It doesn’t erase the heat, but it softens it, making it bearable.
So, if home is where one feels safe to simply be, then melancholy has been that home for me. Because it’s honest and doesn’t bring up arguments. It is a place where I don’t have to explain myself a few days after making a statement or fear that my words will be turned against me.
This is my response to this week’s contest theme.