The lonely thing about living in a place far away from home is that there isn’t a day that passes by when you do not miss every single thing. It makes you vulnerable and lonely.
Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night, missing home. Suddenly, you miss your books with a shredded leaf had forgotten in between pages. Those bedtimes meant for reading. You miss sleeping together- you and your book, you and those characters, you and your mixed-up dreams. You miss those familiar pictures hanging on the wall, your own bed where you can sleep against the wall.
The faces of friends you haven’t talked to in years. Even though, these faces are getting old, you know, they still give hugs that warmth and love, who look at you and still see you. You miss those empty cups and tarnished silver spoons, the torn and twisted rugs. The gentle chimes of your grandfather’s clock, softly striking each hour.
Home is where your heart belongs.
Home is your favorite black forest cakes in the red ribbon shops. The music you overheard from the house next door. The face of a grandmother with a fine trickle of tears like fairy’s jewels wending its way down her wrinkled cheeks.
Home is where you wake up early in the mornings, realizing that it is where life fixed in a firm and perfect pattern, indelible and infinite. Ancient and for always, back and forward. It is an intricate tattoo on the heart of eternity. A home is where you hear familiar voices, the wind, rain and feel the warm sunlight.
Home is the only place to go when your world is falling apart because in here, you are safe and you are loved. Wherever you go, you still want to come home where you can sit down and remember the sweetest things in my life
Home is where you can carry a cup of coffee and enjoy the smell of the surrounding, the grass, and the green-growing things, the lemony tang of the eucalyptus trees pervading the air, listening to the stillness of nature. You know that the silence can only be broken by the twittering of the small birds and the faint rustling of leaves under the soft breeze.
How peaceful it is when you’re at home. It is a kind of peace which is only ever found in your home, that penetrates your bones and settle deep inside.
These are not ghosts. These are not memories. These are all the realities when you’re home.
It is good to be home, you know? It is good to know that when the door opens, you will be engulfed and encircled by the familiar things you love. It is good to know that deep in your heart, you’re in a place of happiness, love and of living peacefully.