“Home”! Such a confusing word for girls! Whenever we start to say something about home, someone stops us and ask, which one?
Really, which one is my real home? The one I grew up with my parents? My husband’s home, which came with my wedding as in-law home? Or the rented 2 bedroom apt currently we are living in? Or may be I still don’t have my home yet, I have to buy a house to call it my home.
I know this is my home, the one where I live with my husband, in Canada. But when I say back home, I mean my home, the one where I was born and brought up, where my parents live. They clean my room regularly, everything is kept as it was when I left home 6 years ago for Canada, and they still call it my room. Just few days ago my dad painted the whole house. They painted all rooms with some white-ish colored paint, but mine. I was very surprised to know that they re-painted my room with the same color I chose 16 years ago. One wall dark pink and other three light pink. I mean, seriously? Why? I choose that color because I was a teenager back then! My obsession with pink is over long time ago. When I asked my dad, he didn’t answer my question. May be he wanted to keep the essence of the room, may be sometimes he wants to go to my room and feel that I’m still nearby, went somewhere, will be back by the evening. My mom still cleans my desk and my dressing table with great care, even though there is nothing there. She cleans my book shelf, my novels, my bangle shelf, my window where I used to stick photos since I was a kid and every other detail. That room is still my room. That house is still my home.
Few months back, one of my uncle was suggesting my dad as no one other than my parents live there, and me, my brother and sister are settled in North America, they should consider giving the the house to a building developer and build an apartment there. By doing that my parents will have few apartments, one to live in and others to sell/rent whatever they want. It will be much secure and updated than an old three storied house. The idea was really good. But I and my sister opposed immediately, almost cried and said we are not supporting this. My brother, the eldest and most mature one, didn’t say anything at first either, later said that it would be good for our parents but was clearly emotional. My mom got so angry with the idea that my dad didn’t said another word. I remembered that I used to tell my dad to sell his childhood home and lands located in the countryside, 250 miles away from our house, because nobody lives there and my dad can use the money to something useful. Every time my suggestion made my dad angry. I decided that day that I won’t suggest to sell his house again. That’s his home.
You know the irony? Whenever I start to say something about home to my husband, something like, got a phone call from home, or something happened at home, he immediately thinks I am talking about his home, my home in-law.
Right now, I miss my home. I want to go home. My home.
#Day 14 of 100 days of happiness project