I remember when I was a kid, home was wherever my stuff was.
My family moved quite a bit so it never looked the same or smelt the same. The shapes kept changing and the walls always looked different.
I remember that spot I’d play alone at, with all my dolls and miniatures kitchen paraphernalia. That became home, too.
When I was in class 12, the internet became home. I loved everything about it. It was the place I was most comfortable and happy at.
Internet is still pretty much home but not entirely because it also reminds me of work now.
When I moved to Jaipur, hostel was home. My side was the most comfortable place on earth. I could be myself. I could wear anything, watch anything, eat, drink.. live.
And then, one day, a person became home. For the first time in my life I couldn’t really understand. Wherever he was, I felt home. Why, I wondered! There was nothing missing. I couldn’t aim higher or I just didn’t want to. I was content. I was happy. The imperfections just made everything better.
He was home for 5 years until he left on the day of the sun! I somehow felt like he’s going for good. That he won’t return. That now I have to find a new home or create one.
Home isn’t a place. Home is a feeling. Home is the people you love. Home is relationships. Home is where your heart is and mine is broken for now.
I can’t call it home yet.