Not having a mother anymore, I used to get upset when I see someone talking to his/her mother in a less than pleasant way. I used to think that they don’t know how lucky he/she is to still have a mother. But then I gave it more thought and decided that it was me who got lucky to have a mother like mine. A mother who was not just a mother, but also a friend. She was my best friend, my partner-in-crime, the person who understood me the most. Why do you think I haven’t got over her death after all these years?
My mother was the heart of the house. After she died, home just didn’t feel like home anymore. It was a house, yes. But definitely not home. My mother was home. That’s why I didn’t have any objection when my brother asked me if he could rent out my bedroom to some college student a couple of months ago. Whatever. It was just a room. Only now does it hit me that if I did go ‘home’, I wouldn’t have a room to stay anymore. And I thought I would always have at least a room to return to, no matter how long I’d been away. But my brother could use the money and I probably wouldn’t go back to Indonesia in years so…
I guess it is official now that home is wherever my beloved husband and I live. Currently, it’s Waterloo. Who knows where it will be in the future. It might not be my native land or the place where I grew up. But it is home, because this is where my heart is. And that’s all that really matters.
yeah, i know what you mean. growing up all over the world, indonesia somehow never meant home to me. home was where my parents were. now home is the little flat i share with my husband :)
although sometimes i wish i could just crawl into my parents’ bed when i’m not feeling well :(