Home – Home is more than a place, or stuff, or a memory. It is a feeling. (Genre – General, Rating – PG)
Home is not just a place, it is a feeling.
A place is transmutable. It can change, it can be changed, sculped and moulded into the design of the onlooker. It can be exchanged, bartered, and left behind.
Stuff is like a place, physical and permanent but it only holds sentiment. Sentiment which can change, wax and wane like the moon in the night sky, sentiment which is never truly fixed.
Memories are like stuff, never true, always subjective. Reaching outside your grasp, snippets of memory but no true image. Just the ghosts of a past that was well lived, whispering secrets that you learnt so that you might be better tomorrow.
Home is that feeling in between. It is associated with a place, but it is not that place. It is the safety that you get when you shut the door, the calmness that you feel when you make dinner, the silence that you hear when you let the house fall completely silent.
Home is not stuff. It is associated with stuff, it is the trinkets that you collect laid out on a shelf to remind you of your travels. It is photos hung on the wall, plants grown on the table. It is within the kitchen gadgets, the furniture, the things that you use every day. It is the things that make the bare walls of the place slightly warmer. Slightly more yours.
Home is not memories. It is a present feeling, a warm, cozy feeling. But a home holds memories like a jewellery box will hold precious treasures. They seep through the walls and bleed into the carpet. Over there you kissed. Over there you watched a movie. Over there you made dinner that one time and it went terribly wrong.
Home is the feeling you get when you can just be you.