Home?Just recently, I read a short sad poem about “home” in the internet and I can’t help but feel grateful of my home, that’s why I decided to write this one. As a kid, home was the stick figure I usually draw with my big crayons. It was where I go after school, where I eat my meals and where I spend my time. Home was where I wake up and sleep, home was where I get scolded for having low scores on exams, home was where my favorite grandfather died and home was the only place I could run into. As I grow older and the more I spend time outside, I get to realize what “home is where your heart is” and “home sweet home” means. At 23, I experienced that home is my best friends, laughing and crying until we fall sleep. Home is being in a quiet corner with a book. Home is the ragged doll that you’ve had ever since. Home is the music that makes you reminisce of distant memories. Home is on a road trip with the people you love. Home is the having a simple meal over endless conversations. Home is the scent that reminds you of the people you’ve lost and you still have. Home is being alone in a crowded place. Home is walking under the great night sky. Home is at the top of the building looking over the city lights. Home is sleeping on the sand and waking up with the sun and sound of the waves. Home is staring at the sunset. Home is doing what you love most. Home is learning. Home is writing. Home is where you get to wear your 15-year old pajama. Home is praying at night. Home is your old letters. Home is sleeping in your parent’s bed with your siblings. Home is talking to your siblings just about anything and everything. Home is talking to your father who is a thousand miles away. Home is your Mom’s home cooked meals. Home is Sunday mass with the family. Home is your Mom’s laughter. Home is your father’s "daddy jokes". Home is your mom’s funny stories. Home is your father’s life lessons. Though still one thing didn’t change, at the end of the day; home is still who, what I run back to, no matter how far I’ve travelled. Home is not a house, not a place; it does not have a specific definition. Home is a feeling – the feeling of security, comfort and what keeps you at peace. Home is the beginning of who you are, it might first be the actual place that we grew up but eventually home mostly influenced how we are – our personalities, the way deal with people and how we act. For families like us, separated by miles, home is not just a physical place but (indeed) home is where our heart is. I realized that home is boundless, it is not tied by the square foot of your actual house, home is a part of you that your loved ones living abroad took with them. Home is not the absence of my father nor it does not matter how many occasions he missed. Home is on skype with him, telling him stories and listening to his adventures. Home is the precious time with hime during the holidays we get to be with him. Home is being able to hug my Papa tight. Home is saying I love you and hearing "I love you so much" back from him. More than anything else, Home is LOVE and home is FAMILY, so I guess no one, nothing, not even distance can ever break a home because a home is within a family, bound by God and filled with love. My home might be different from your home, but one thing’s for sure, wherever you are, it’s still home sweet home. :) xoxo, M
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She wonders and wandersMonica writes about her life, what she eats, what she reads and where she goes. This space is where her thoughts, experiences, memories and feelings turn into words. She's glad that she can share with you. Archives
August 2021
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