Monday, October 4, 2010

Embracing My Home


Home is a word that can mean a lot of things to a single person. It can mean a person’s dorm room, a person’s family, the four walls that surround him/her, or is a place that protects a person when it rains. It can also be more abstract. Home can be in a person’s heart or being in a certain state of mind. My definition of home is something different from probably what a lot of other people think. Home for me is a place, a very special place. Home is in the arms of someone who loves me.

So, I feel home every time I hug someone who is special to me. Whether it’s my dog, my aunt, my mom, my brother, my dad, my friends, my neighbors or my cousins. That’s when I know I’m home. I feel their grasps around my waist or shoulders, their heavy breaths on my neck, their giggles near my ears, their tears on my cheeks, or their sweet kisses. All of these feelings sum up only some of what I feel when I am home.
            
It was hard to feel at home in a new dorm where I didn’t know anybody, but I eventually opened up like a blooming bud. I found some friends that I can consider home. Yes, home is a real, living, breathing thing to me. Home is a person. But this can also be a double-edged sword, because what I consider home might reject me or push me away. I’ve had friends that I trusted, lie to me, betray me, manipulate or use me. Home can be just as much as a scary place as a good one. When a person that I love turns on me, home isn’t what I feel. It feels as though my home was wearing a mask and tried to be something that it wasn’t.
            
When I moved into my dorm at UCI, I felt as though I was homeless, because I had no open arms for me to huddle in to protect me. So, I went searching for my homes and I eventually found them to be just as the good ones back in Los Angeles.
            
This weekend, I went back to LA, and revisited the homes that I previously had.  Melissa, Melanie, Rafi, Francesca, my brother, my mom, my aunt, and my dad. It felt strange because it felt as though Irvine was just a dream. Or perhaps, coming back to LA is a dream and that Irvine is the reality. It was a strange feeling to have two separate lives. One in UCI, the other in LA. It felt as though I was at two places at once. So many places where I called “home.”
            
To see how much I’ve affected so many people’s lives just by existing, just by having them be my homes, was surprising. My homes missed me, on both sides of the spectrum, in Irvine and in LA. When they see me, they invite me in with those big open arms, which I gladly step into with a smile. I feel their thoughts through their touch. The more the squeeze me, the more that they’ve missed having me be around. The more out of breath I am, the better.

I’m glad to call the people in my life, my home. 

3 comments:

The Words Crafter said...

Hey Vatche! I'm glad you've found 'homes' in your new world. What a great concept. To me, home is somewhere I feel safe, free. That could be a person...I just never realized it. And it's so true! It really is the people that make me feel at home. My husband. My cats. My friends. My family. Huh. Pretty insightful.

Okay, I'm blogging raw here: the kids in my class clamor to get into my lap. They want hugs, cuddles, kisses, and squeezes. They feel safe. Loved. Protected. At home. We are all like little children seeking a safe place, a haven, a home. And people provide that. Or take it away. Or twist and break it....

You've managed to hit on something that could be a very deep subject. Kudos for a random mental snack, :)

Elisabeth said...

As they say, Vachte, 'Home is where the heart is'. You can add to that: 'Home is where other hearts live.'

Rafi said...

oh i see what you did there with the title haha very clever ;)

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