Not just a house, but a home.

I live alone. In a 4 room HDB flat.

My flat is very nicely renovated (in my own style, of course I think it is nice). Brick walls, kitchen island, projector screen because I love films, entertainment room with a huge bookshelf, a lazy sofa for me to lie on instead of just sit, mattress with appropriate hardness suited for my sleeping style, as well as ample wardrobe space so I don’t have to organise my clothes too much.

Fun fact. Guess what’s on my huge screen now? The Mask!! Lol, my childhood favourite film.

I am not boasting about how amazing my space is but rather, how nice the space is to me. Almost a year ago, when I felt that my world was crashing down on me, the one thing that comforted me every night was simply my home. The comforting music that streamed from the good speakers, the cuddly blanket that kept me warm in the aircon room, and the tea in my hand that flushes down the sorrows from within.

Gradually, time and space healed me. I healed and recovered in this space.

Until today, when my day is terrible, when I feel like I am alone and lost, confused, hurt, disappointed, or simply crushed, just huddling in a corner at home, sometimes hiding under my bedside table or kitchen island, comforts me so.

I guess it is almost like a cave, or a sanctuary to me. I only realised this recently, when unhappiness and sadness shrouded my evenings, when those negative feelings and hurt remind me of what pain felt like a year ago. Those moments made me realise the kind of solace my house brought me. And it answered a dilemma I always had — why was it so hard for me to make a decision to give up my house when I have never been one to be after riches?

The answer is that it wasn’t just a house. It is my home where I feel safe and comfort even when the whole world is against me.

Do I fear losing my home? Of course I do. Who doesn’t?

But do I need to lose it? I am afraid I need to. Not for anyone but for my own sake.

I know I always have a home to go back to, which is my parents’ home. But it is different. Not because I am not loved, but simply because of childhood incidents that made me feel ‘extra’ being the 5th person at home a bit too often than a child should be made to feel. Everybody is in pairs, everybody has space, until the 5th. The 5th takes up space that used to be sufficient. The 5th separates 1&2 and 3&4. The 5th better be worth it to deserve what she needs.

I hope I will find a home again, one day. Somewhere comfortable where I know I belong. Where I know I am safe from hurt. Where I know I am accepted and welcomed anytime. Where I know will never forsake me. Where I do not have to match up to standards set by the society or fight for a right to stay. Where I feel like myself and where I am accepted, where comfort lies even when the world decides to make me its enemy. I am not afraid of hard work to maintain my home. Just at least give me a home to work for.

A simple song sums it up very well:

どんな君も どんな時も 受け止めるから
もしも心が傷ついて 涙こぼれる時は
世界中を敵にしても 君を守るよ

Perhaps home is a house. Or it could be a person. I don’t know.

But for now, I am home.

-end

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