Suspended Horizons
On the Search for Home
Some conversations don’t happen through words alone. They echo across landscapes, memories, and inner worlds.
This piece grew out of a quiet sense of recognition. Two poetic voices — Dutch and Greek — different in expression yet akin in spirit, met through Substack and mirrored one another’s instinct to move through the world like birds tracing unseen currents across distant lands.
Through our separate but intertwined writings, Honeyrealms and I explore themes of longing, sensitivity, and the tension between belonging and wanting to be free.
From the lowlands to the elsewhere spaces we carry within ourselves, these pieces search for home — in places, in people, and within the self.
I. The Lowlands
Honeyrealms
This horizon is uninterrupted, suspended softly between wind and water. The coast is the only place I find my serenity in this land. Things move here without needing to declare that they are moving. The way the air carries sound a little further than it did the day before. There is something so soothing about it, in this city of chaos.
It is one of the places I visit to watch the birds. They fly, walk, beg, steal and float. Especially the seagulls: they’re cheeky yet creative. I will never resent them for doing whatever their instincts tell them to do. I leave them be. I can’t even be bothered by them stealing my food — it makes me laugh. And so it made me wonder: why can’t us humans leave each other be. What if we don’t want to comply, and live a socially accepted life? Why can’t we just accept we’re not all wired the same and just laugh about it? And leave each other be.
Living in the lowlands means learning to read what does not present itself immediately. The strongest element, water, is managed, redirected and held back by sluices and dikes. Just like the people’s vulnerability, managing it carefully so it doesn’t overflow. The ground I live on is an arrangement, it was never given by nature. Might that be why being here sometimes feels forced? That being here not always feels like home, and at the same time it always does?
A melancholic woman with a heart attuned to romance, beauty and the deepest of depths. Finding my way through the land of simplicity — sober in mind but not in liver. It is a quiet contradiction yet a playful challenge. Feeling too much, shouldn’t complain, don’t make a fuss! This is where I had learned to hold it all in and now I am bursting at the seams.
This innovative and successful land, for a big part built up from theft and tears has now begun its slow decay. Perhaps we do know how to complain after all, cause we have done it all along. Don’t you see it? You can be strong and sensitive. Don’t you see it? You can be happy and still move honestly through all of your feelings.
Whenever I fly above this beautiful sea of mine, I am able to see the world from a birds’-eye view. I am light again, as if I left all the weight behind at land. I don’t need any baggage, I need to be in tune with myself. I will have to trust my own compass and skills over anything and anyone forever.
And then there’s the most beautiful thing. Along the journey, we meet kindred souls. The ones who know how to effortlessly light our fires. We visit the places where it is appreciated to go through the deepest of the depths. And the mountains, oh the mountains, they make me feel. For they are heavy and imposing, dense and charged. They are not present in my homeland, so it’s always a sight for sore eyes whenever I do.
We all fight our own battles, we all follow our own path and pace. Some say it’s fate and some say it’s free will, but whatever it is, we are never alone. I feel like there is always some sort of parallel version of yourself and your life somewhere in the world. Somebody who truly understands you and your entire being without actually knowing you.
Whenever I return back to the lowlands, I feel her heavy wave of suppressed emotions — the weight of it all. And yet, there is always a brightside. The sun knows how to shine, painting the canals and fields gold. Even here, in a land so pragmatic, there is beauty that insists on being seen and it reminds me that strength and sensitivity can coexist. Heaviness and light can live together. Even in restraint, joy finds her way.
The land is flat and the people tall, I am right there in between. Feeling it all.
II. The Elsewhere
Nina
Silence prevails this afternoon. Not much talk, even the cheerful cries of the neighborhood children are quieter than usual.
The curtains are slowly but gently drawn over the dimming sky, softening our city. I’m lying flat on my back, under my angled window — I’ve been here for a while, unsure for how long. The days rush by like water in a creek — never ending, quick. Billie Holiday plays softly in the background, the vinyl brought by my father from overseas is starting to screech but I fail to notice it. Fairy lights hang low, and forgotten over my wooden closet, flickering as they die.
They say that you take yourself wherever you go, there’s no running away from what eats you from within and I agree — but what if I am trying to box myself into something that was never shaped for me? And that difference gets misunderstood, misread as indifference — but it couldn’t be further from the truth.
There’s a certain intensity brewing in my chest, one that I could unleash but I am… I’m afraid to be witnessed fully. For I am shown I am unusual in ways I do not understand.
Spiraling thoughts suffocate the room, so I gather my clothes, my keys and my bag and head out for a walk into the English Garden. The walk is long but rewarding — my mind wanders and I ease into my body once I step onto the tender grass of the park. A field as wide as the horizon, right in the heart of the city, occupied by the bare feet of groups playing beer pong, volleyball and all else in between.
I choose a cosy place to rest. A shady spot by the river. I grab my pen and try to jot down my thoughts in a notebook. I scribble a stick figure here, a sentence there — bullet points instead of proper prose. Reading the previous entries, they appear as enigmatic to me as they would to a stranger.
Everyone insists I should journal, keep an eye out for patterns and progress. I wish my thoughts were as straightforward — then I wouldn’t have to figure them out, let alone explain them to someone else.
My friend just recently crossed the sea while heading up north to a land that’s covered in snow and frost. Upon his arrival, he appeared a different person — in a refreshing way. A happier, carefree version of himself, and I understand. I feel the same way whenever I cross the borders and head to the south. I crave the scorching sun on my body, turning blotchy red and then golden.
This land is beautiful, serene and fertile yet it’s not my home. My awkward stride and shallow breathing prevent any true merging with its ancient stones. There is an unnatural restlessness in my feet — ready to run at the slightest sign of uncertainty, as if staying too long would rot something inside me I could never put into words.
I do not know what kind of invisible shackles are keeping us tethered here nor why they ground us against our will — instead of remaining levelheaded, we turn into an imprisoned fire beneath our skin.
Chatter and laughter travel on the water from across the Isar. A group of diverse young women are discussing their lifestyles and each other’s choices. Unintentionally eavesdropping brings up new material to internally debate on. And somehow creates a wider chasm of how I feel I belong or don’t. It’s easy to judge differences merely by what you’re presented, but that’s never the whole story at all. I know this to be true, for the images projected onto me never once aligned with who I am beyond the superficial armor.
The light shifts and spreads widely throughout the water, inviting a play of amber warmth and cool shadow in the shallows.
Ducks pass by, they float alongside their ducklings on top of the river. I’ve noticed an anecdotal pattern: the male ducks seem to be the ones with the intense coloring, the purples, the greens and blacks. The female ducks appear to be mostly soft brown, quietly elegant and fiercely protective of their young. I especially enjoy the rare sight of them sunbathing — the small ones with their baby feathers, puffed up and fluffy, spread over the ground like Japanese pancakes.
How simple it must be to be a bird — no need to explain yourself, no need to belong anywhere but the air. No need to call any place home, when your home is wherever you drift and arrive.
Vivid memories of my childhood flash in front of me. I used to kneel by the riverside and pick stones from its bed. Colorful, textured and shaped in funny ways. Some resembled nothing at all and others shifted into true artwork, but regardless, I always returned them. Being kept is not the way to be known. And if that makes me wrong, then I would still rather remain unknown.
Perhaps this applies to us too. We are all so different — some instantly incompatible, others seemingly cut from the very same fabric. Some pass like the seasons and leave us with a profound spiritual inheritance. Others never reached us as deeply as they believe they did. Kindred spirits find us in the storm when we need them the most — when we choose to stay.
I fought but ran. I ran. My path crossed another’s — someone who has touched me in ways that quietly unraveled what I thought I knew. Moments shared that are impossible to ignore.
I almost feel like I can stay too. Perhaps for a while, perhaps for longer.
It’s been a wonderful experience working with Honeyrealms on this piece over the past few months, and I am deeply grateful for the connection and care that shaped it along the way.
Her writing resonates with me in a rare and honest way. She is thoughtful, emotionally rich, and unafraid to write words that linger. Watching her work grow and unfold has been both inspiring and comforting, and I’m very happy to share it here.
→ Check out more of my photography here
Social Media & Portfolio
Connect with Honeyrealms
Connect with Nina Tatsaki
Unauthorized usage of text or images is prohibited.
© 2026 All Rights Reserved
 | A guest post by
|
I really enjoyed co-writing this piece with you! Such a fun and inspiring experience. 🌻