I have always struggled with the concept of home. I have trouble associating a specific geographical region to the concept of home. But does it have to be such an association?
To me home is a feeling:
Home is walking around in torn pyjamas, bed hair and morning breath (for hours, maybe the whole day) and not caring.
Home is waking up in the morning and listening to familiar noises around me (whether it’s the sound of my mum preparing breakfast or my dad’s early morning sneezes or the sound of my partner getting in to the shower or the sound of my dog walking around the house).
Home is memories of all the times my brother and I danced and sang to every single song from the Lion King soundtrack because we genuinely thought we were the most talented duo out there.
Home is sitting next to my husband and watching our favourite TV show and drinking hot chocolate.
Home is when friends walk in unannounced like it’s the most natural thing in the world and proceeding to spending hours laughing till our stomachs ache.
Home is trying to wrestle with my dog and ending up getting my face covered with sloppy ‘kisses’.
I guess, for me home isn’t necessarily a particular place – to me home is where the heart is.