I believe that the home is not one tangible place.
I consider my house to be my safe-haven, my refuge, and my home. Every time I come home from a small trip or long vacation, I feel so relieved when I just let my bag slide off my arm and fall to the floor as I walk into my house. I am home.
I am also home when I do what I love best: acting, watching movies, hanging out with friends, and spending some time with my family.
I believe that these things are what make up my home because they make me feel at ease, happy, loved, and safe. I believe that is what a home should be. It is an environment that makes you feel like you are safe, warm, loved; it is a time and place where you can feel your heart fill with bliss
I came to this conclusion after the death of my grandmother.
Once she had died, she left behind a house that had been home to her, her husband, and their four children. My uncle wanted to buy the house and the other siblings were supportive in his decision. I however, was not so pleased. It wasn’t the fact that he was buying the house that disturbed me. I knew that the house had to be bought by somebody, family member or not. It was a question of why. He went through great lengths to get the house, and now that he has it, he’s making major renovations that it doesn’t even look like the original house. It made me think. Did he want his old home? Or did he want the land? I was starting to believe he would have fought for the lot that the house was on, even if the house itself had burned to the ground.
Taking it a step further, I think about the fighting in Israel. I see the effects of the fight for land taken to the extreme. The struggle in that place goes back years and years and I can hardly make out any of it. I find it ironic that there is so much nonsensical fighting and bloodshed in a place that is called the “Holy Land”. Whenever I get in a discussion with someone who tries to explain it to me, I hear, “It’s their home. They’re fighting over their home.” How can it be a home if it includes pain, suffering, and heartache? If that was what home meant, I wouldn’t want one.
But I do have a home, and it isn’t just my house. Although my house is a home to me, if it was burned down or invaded by another country, I have plenty to fall back on.
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