One last looks to my house, where millions of memories had been created. I grew up there. In fact we grew together. It was I, who grow from a little girl with ponytail into a woman with a lot of thing in her shoulder after her dad decided to walk away from his family. The house evolved from just a building with soil as its floor, into a good place with the smell of jasmine coming from one of its corner. My grandma planted it years ago. It was her favorite. Now, One last look before I say good bye.
Then we had to move several times. From a place which has a same size, until finally we had to move to a small place. Oh no, let me correct it. We moved to a tiny place with only two tiny rooms and I end up sleeping in the living room. I can feel cockroach on my feet sometimes. I didn’t do anything. It’s no use anyway. They will do that again and again.
Almost every night I’m staring at the ceiling, wondering how I can end this. When I can stop refusing friend and colleagues who want to go to my house? Especially to those who know how my mom loves to cook and invite my friends for lunch. Her motto is ‘Better to invite my kid’ friends for lunch than let them wandering around at mall’. When will I can be in a place where I can happily call it HOME.
What will you do when you have a friend who never stops asking where your house is? What will you do when you have a friend who drag you into his house just to show you that his house is tiny; untidy; and located in small alley after you refuse his request for so many times. He never ask why you refuse his wish, he just drag you to his house. Just like that.
You just gave up. I mean, I gave up. I let him came to my tiny house. I tried my best to make it like a real house (whatever real house is). It seems useless though. I mean, we have lots of thing. Not because we’re a hoarder but simply because we use to have a 200m square house and now it’s only around 80m. We already get rid of a lot but still…
He came. Sat on the carpet (we gave away our couch long ago). And we talked a lot about almost everything. Even my mom joined us for a moment. Before he went home, he said: ‘You have a warm house. I think it’s because the people who lived here are warm person ever. Be happy!’
I just smile.
It strikes me. HOME is totally different with House. HOME is where you feel accepted; where you feel save to be yourself; where you can love and be loved no matter what, no matter how bad you’ve been. HOME is a feeling while house is just a building. It took me 7 years before I can understand that simple thing. I’m glad that I can finally get there with my conscious .
Now I realize that I’m lucky to have lots of Home. My HOME shapes in many forms.
HOME is my mom with her unconditional love for me for good and bad. HOME is this blog, where I feel free to reveal myself without hesitation, without fear that someone might judge me from what I wrote. HOME is when I’m with them whom I called friend. People who cares for me and whom I care dearly even though we don’t share the same blood.
Now, I finally found My HOME
Have you found yours?
My 3rd assignment for Writing101 and I got the typewriter pic from here