An alien crash lands and you have to explain what HOME is because they have heard so much about it on our shows that have been beemed into space for them to watch.
Before we turn this into a fifth grade writing assignment...I seriously want to discuss what HOME is.
I don't know if I have the idea, or home, or understand it. I don't quite know what it is to me, nor have I ever felt like I have had a HOME of MINE.
Growing up we technically lived in my GRANDMA and GRANDPA'S house, for numerous reasons that I don't intend to go into here. They had the idea building the house that each child would have their own room, their GROWN in their 20s-40 year old children. My mom and dad got my DAD'S room. My sister's and I slept in the "hall room" until I was about 5 and then my aunt decided, since she only visited a little while each year to let us sleep in her room. My other aunt never offered and years later when my mom had enough of there being a vacant room when three teenagers had to share one, and she moved one of us in there, words and anger flew. The family is still upset about these things.
The thing about staying in my aunt's room was that we couldn't alter the motif, wall paper, hangings, etc. Random items littered the room of dolls, rugs and everything in between. Our books and goods stayed hidden in boxes under the bed and when we could reach out we were faced with complaints of holes in the wall, damage to the 20 year old paper and other problems. We hated it.
It never felt like our room.
It barely felt like our home.
At a time in was, we ran around OUR backyard, on OUR picnic table we played pirates, on OUR boulders we played games.
Then we hit reality as older children and saw the drama of great aunt's mentioning us sleeping in "Carol's room" or other reactions. It stung that we couldn't lay claim to where we slept every night, and instead felt like we should only be there for a little while, or only belonged there like a guest. It began to feel unlike home.
Fast forward to when I am 19 and I come back from 2.5 months in Europe and all my stuff is filled into this building I grew up in but I don't feel comfortable there.
6 months later I have my own place in Denver for college. I begin to feel like I have a home. I can decorate how I want....except the walls have to stay the same. And the windows keep breaking, and then I have to move because my school and pulled my major.
A year later and I move in with my boyfriend, and we combine furniture and a home, families, ideas, decor.
It feels like something close to home, except the neighbors gossip and try to spy on us, they make false claims we have a long list of annoying rules and regulations. The walls are white, everywhere, white. It feels like a hospital.
Yet as annoying as these things are, I have a person I share this home with, and having just come home from two and a half months abroad I don't know where else would feel okay.
I feel disjointed, jet lagged, and unsure where I am, but I can just curl up with Ryan and start to feel better. SO maybe home is where the heart is, and you have to find where that was left. Mine has been left a lot of places, but ultimately in a town I don't particularly love and a state I wish to leave...it has a place, that my heart feels a little more free, happy, and welcome.
Before we turn this into a fifth grade writing assignment...I seriously want to discuss what HOME is.
I don't know if I have the idea, or home, or understand it. I don't quite know what it is to me, nor have I ever felt like I have had a HOME of MINE.
Growing up we technically lived in my GRANDMA and GRANDPA'S house, for numerous reasons that I don't intend to go into here. They had the idea building the house that each child would have their own room, their GROWN in their 20s-40 year old children. My mom and dad got my DAD'S room. My sister's and I slept in the "hall room" until I was about 5 and then my aunt decided, since she only visited a little while each year to let us sleep in her room. My other aunt never offered and years later when my mom had enough of there being a vacant room when three teenagers had to share one, and she moved one of us in there, words and anger flew. The family is still upset about these things.
The thing about staying in my aunt's room was that we couldn't alter the motif, wall paper, hangings, etc. Random items littered the room of dolls, rugs and everything in between. Our books and goods stayed hidden in boxes under the bed and when we could reach out we were faced with complaints of holes in the wall, damage to the 20 year old paper and other problems. We hated it.
It never felt like our room.
It barely felt like our home.
At a time in was, we ran around OUR backyard, on OUR picnic table we played pirates, on OUR boulders we played games.
Then we hit reality as older children and saw the drama of great aunt's mentioning us sleeping in "Carol's room" or other reactions. It stung that we couldn't lay claim to where we slept every night, and instead felt like we should only be there for a little while, or only belonged there like a guest. It began to feel unlike home.
Fast forward to when I am 19 and I come back from 2.5 months in Europe and all my stuff is filled into this building I grew up in but I don't feel comfortable there.
6 months later I have my own place in Denver for college. I begin to feel like I have a home. I can decorate how I want....except the walls have to stay the same. And the windows keep breaking, and then I have to move because my school and pulled my major.
A year later and I move in with my boyfriend, and we combine furniture and a home, families, ideas, decor.
It feels like something close to home, except the neighbors gossip and try to spy on us, they make false claims we have a long list of annoying rules and regulations. The walls are white, everywhere, white. It feels like a hospital.
Yet as annoying as these things are, I have a person I share this home with, and having just come home from two and a half months abroad I don't know where else would feel okay.
I feel disjointed, jet lagged, and unsure where I am, but I can just curl up with Ryan and start to feel better. SO maybe home is where the heart is, and you have to find where that was left. Mine has been left a lot of places, but ultimately in a town I don't particularly love and a state I wish to leave...it has a place, that my heart feels a little more free, happy, and welcome.
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