Perhaps today is not the day for memoirs, but a little churn and a twist from the norm. Today, I write about home—a place we often go back to at the end of a rough or a jolly good day. A home is not just a place, but a realm within us. A space where we find peace, contentment, and joy. Home is the scent of familiar spices wafting from the kitchen, the creak of a well-trodden wooden floor, the soft hum of voices that know our stories without needing to ask. It is the quiet sanctuary after a long day, the laughter echoing in the corridors of memory, the warmth of a beloved presence, even when miles apart. It is not confined to four walls and a roof, nor is it defined by the grandeur of its architecture. But home is also change. It is the bittersweet moment of packing up childhood belongings, leaving behind walls that once echoed with our growing pains. It is the ache of longing when we search for traces of what was, only to find that time has repainted the doors and rearranged the furnit...
Liberal expressions of Literature, Poetry and Life.