I was scared too. Kidding. No, I was rather relieved. After a couple of rough weeks working on my thesis day-and-night, I needed badly to take a trip to my hometown to visit family and friends. To sleep in my old bed and cozy up with my old mutt seemed like the definition of comfort.
Comfort is also the many memories packed between the walls of the house I had lived at since I was twelve. Homes for some of us are our sanctuaries, shielding us from the rest of the world, so naturally we want to return to these places and feel the comfort whenever possible. When something goes awry, it's so crucial to have a reliable place to go.
Now when I go home, I start to feel a new urge. Is it a female thing to have domestic fantasies of how her own kitchen will look like one day? Basking in sunlight from vast windows and hovering over a stove on an immaculate clean counter? Did I just scare off any potential suitors? Sorry, guys.
I'm going to keep going with it though. Why? Well, because I'm at the age where these things fuel my dreams. Everyone wants a sense of comfort and style that is only their own and it's natural. I envision my home to be in a big city-the space is small but cozy and comfortable.
Stumbling around this weird thing called life, on my way to a white picket fence and eternal happiness (what else?), the notion of having my own home has settled right in. Something to lavish adoration upon that would be a loyal place to go when I'm cold/sad/stressed/tired or happy, something that couldn't exist without me. You know how that feels, right?
This is what I've been thinking about while I'm enjoying my time home.
My home won't be a place I need to travel to, but will be where I am (where ever that may be) and my family and friends will come to visit. Home seems like a dream for now, but is a reality I'm working on.