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Where is home?

For me, I grew up in my maternal hometown in a small house with my mom and dad. It had been a great and joyous home for me that I didn’t actually notice how small it was while growing up in it, until after my mom’s death, and I left for secondary school in a boarding school and my dad moved back to paternal hometown and I visited our old house where I had all, well most of my childhood memories.
Most because I had another home in my maternal big family home where I visited often as a child. My uncle built many houses in one big compound and in it all his siblings and wives and children had spaces to live, and on the very top of one of the two story buildings was boldly carved “Happy Home”. And it had been a very lively and happy home when I was a child.
Well, now people might see just a big house there, I would have myself, only the memories of my childhood there wouldn’t let me. Sometimes I look at the boldly carved happy home, which it’s painting is beginning to fade to remind myself of how happy it had been.

I found home in my paternal home too, where I had started visiting since my dad moved, and I had to go there during school holidays to see him. My paternal home was big and with many relatives, grandfather and grandmother (two of whom are no more) my dad’s half family (if that’s what it’s called) great uncles, uncles, aunts, cousins, buildings, farms, although as much big as my paternal home is, somehow I always feel my maternal home is bigger, well without much consideration or comparison.

And now, home is my one room contain, where I cook, eat, bath sleep, think, read, write, laugh, cry, it’s where my clothes and shoes are, it’s where I hurry to get to whenever I’m out of it. It’s where I love to be most. It’s home. And sometimes I get out of it just so I could appreciate it better; whenever I feel like “oh I’ve been in this room all day without even as much opening the door” I might get out to any of my friend’s room or visit my cousin who lives close, and most of these times, I’d be thinking of just getting back to my room, so I could pee sitting comfortably on my toilet, so I could lie on my bed, so I could write of anything that might have promoted me to write, so I could feel completely at peace, and when I get to my room, I’m always like, “oh thank God I’m back, it always feels good.”
You know why? Because that is home for me.

6 Replies to “HOME”

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