I keep thinking about the word "home" all the time. What exactly means home for me? Is it a place? Or a feeling? Can I be/feel at home anywhere in the world? Or should this word represent the house I was brought-up in? Do I have the home? Or am I a homeless in this case?
I used to live in a town until I was 8 years old. We lived in a huge apartment, I had everything near - my friends, a favourite playground and the area where we lived was suitable for a happy child as I was. I had a breathtaking view on our town from our balcony, I loved that. My bedroom was just mine, was designed in white, red and yellow colour. My mum cared about her princess´s room a lot, it was adorable. Everything was perfect, there was no doubt I called this place my HOME with a proud in my voice.
I remember the day when my dad took me for a walk which was not supposed to be a usual walk, my dad did not want to just walk around the town as I planned. We did not even go the same way as usually. I kept asking him where we were going. He said we were going to a reality agency. I remember stopping in the middle of a pavement and just starring at him. I had no idea what was a reality agency, I thought he was making a fun from me. He softly grabbed my hand and said something like I would understand and everything would be OK (Yeah, sure). I was not THAT stupid child. I knew when somebody said "everything is/will be OK", something was about to happen what would make me upset. While my dad was having meeting, I sat quietly trying to catch the point of the it. I was pretty shy when I was a child, so it was not difficult to make me just sit and be quiet. A disadvantage of this was that I heard everything. I have no idea if my dad really thought I would not understand what they were talking about or I would be totally OK with it (I will never find out since my dad does not remember this moment of our life, I have asked him).
I can still feel the tears which were going down to my face when the meeting ended and I did not have a strength to hide them any more. I cried a lot. But not as a children do when they want an attention. This was a real cry, I was heart-broken. Unfortunately for me, my dad did not recognise the difference. Firstly when hugged me and said some bullshits how I would love our new home and that we did not need that big apartment and so on. I did not believe anything of his sayings. When I did not stop crying, he became strict and just said to me to act as a big girl and to stop crying.
We moved out from the apartment in a couple of weeks. I was still upset and I blamed my parents for destroying my life (just in my mind, I do not think I said it out load that time). But since I had quite strict parents, I had to listen and be a good girl. I did try, I swear. But when you are about to lose something what was so connected with you as the apartment and the place we lived, I was falling apart at almost every occasion.
The new house was not really a new one. It was a house after my grandparents in the middle of nowhere. Location? Forest, forest and forest, nothing more. Just a beautiful nature for miles. Yes, I loved going there during holidays when I could invite one of my friends and play there with them all the time. But living there? That was a completely different story.
First of all, I lost my own room. I had to start sharing the bedroom with my brother. Honestly, this destroyed our relationship for a long time - for years. I do not stand for an opinion that siblings should live in the same room, especially when we are talking about a girl and a boy. We had had our bedrooms, separated and private and then we had to adapt to a new type of living. Neither of us liked that situation.
The house was smaller than our old apartment and it took quite a long time until the scheduled reconstruction finished.
I used to hate dislike my parents' house. I could not see my friends anymore every afternoon. After the school finished, I had to go home with my dad or my mum, I could not stay at the town alone. So, I kind of lost my friends. Some of them did not go to the same school as me, thus there was no opportunity to see them anymore. And the feeling when my other friends were talking what they would do after school and I could not join them, that was hurting me a lot.
I moved out of my parents house when I was 19 years old. I had completely enough. No friends, no privacy, no ability of going out in the evening (since my dad was strict with this rule), "no freedom", no internet connection, zero of young people... I could carry on with a few more reasons.
I can look back and say how I feel it now.
I am thankful as much as I can just be. I can see myself clearly when I look at the mirror. That house in that place taught me so much. I am glad I lived there and that everything ended up as it did. I lived completely in nature, ate the best food, walked without shoes on almost all the time. I discovered much more than my friends since they lived in towns or villages. I spent a lot of time alone so I understood myself quite a lot. I was surrounded with the most important things a child could be. Even I did not realise it when I was younger and did care just about less important things.
I enjoy my childhood home every time I go back. I remember those moments, those places, everything. The atmosphere is so unique, I would wish you to feel the feeling I have in my heart forever.
I was so lucky.
