Skip to main content

Home: A Realm Within

Image
By

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 furniture of our memories. Home is both the past we hold onto and the future we step into.

Sometimes, home is not where we were born but where we find ourselves. It is in the kindred spirits we meet along the way, in the cities that welcome us with open streets, in the corners of the world that unexpectedly whisper, You belong here too. It is the way we carry familiar rituals into unfamiliar places—cooking a childhood recipe in a foreign kitchen, playing an old song in a new apartment, finding comfort in the smallest echoes of what once was.

And then there are the moments when home is not a place, but a person. The way a voice can calm a storm within us, the way a hug can mend what the world has frayed, the way a simple "I'm here" can turn a strange land into sacred ground.

We spend our lives seeking, building, and returning to this place, sometimes without realizing that home is not always a destination. It is a thread woven into our being, carried in our hearts wherever we go. It is in the way we greet an old friend, the way we hold onto traditions, the way we create warmth for others, even in the most unfamiliar of places.

Home is not just where we started—it is where we return, even if only in our hearts.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Learning the ropes.

By
A reset is something that hits you when you least expect it. Just like sickness, it knocks at your door at odd hours, bringing with it a period of great adjustments and shifts.  A bit of a background story, a couple of weeks ago, I was reading an anecdote by Norman Vincent Peale (the father of positive thinking) where the author posits that one should change their thoughts if they wish to change the world.  This got me thinking; all those instances where I have seen people on the streets or in restaurants in seemingly boisterous conversations and showing broad smiles unassumingly made me think that they might be living life happier than mine. I assumed that they were happier than me or even smarter than me. Instances are rife where we sit in our little apartments imagining what it would be like to be someone else.  That feeling that we often behold that everyone around you seems to be doing better than you, or the one where we feel that piles upon piles of decks are stack...
3 comments
Read more

Fears and Wars

By
He has his own fears, often he beholds his own wars, some days with a raised face and at times with a downcast smug.  Hate and love are two perfect sides of a coin, there is no in-between. He often tries not to judge people that he rans into amidst the craziness of life. Some new, some acquaintances and many that he has known over long conversations. His type of conversations covers short spurts of strenuous "hellos" and "heys". The amount of fake charades on people's faces and actions always makes his heart cringe; not with fear but with a lot of pain. It takes a certain amount of opening up to get to let people into his life, especially when one is reserved. And when he does, his life resides there; a center of unhinged openness . He hates changes and often a great deal is characterized with a Traditionalist view. He likes to see things organized in a certain way; less drama. Untidy workplaces irritates the comfort in him, and interrupted schedule screws up ...
Post a Comment
Read more

He Remembers.

By
He’d write you this letter, but he knows, the good ol’ days are gone. blame the vagaries of life. The bits that used to make your heart fluster; the butterflies in your stomach? This are words, poured into this piece, to remember a graceful person, to honor a time that made his world a place to relish. Truth be said, weathering this time is daunting and he got no idea how it is going to be. He’s held onto hope; he knows too well of it’s tingling taste in his mouth. He’s beheld countless nights of little to no sleep and unsettled sighs and heaves, oh the world that was! The song titled For You by John Denver bellows through the dark headphones tightly holding his sanity together, He can’t help but feel every second and minute pass by so slowly. That is a song he would be singing in the shower with an upbeat mood, relishing the gifts of life. It’s a heavy one this bit, He doesn’t know if his shoulders can hold onto the weight really. He is scared, not that the world’s turned colder...
2 comments
Read more