I once had a place I call ‘home’. The place where I found comfort, and missed while I was away. A sanctuary. Every room, every wall had their own different stories.
My babies were born there. Their first walk, the first ground they touched was in that house. It was quite big for a small family. 3 storeys, 3 bedrooms ( eventhough we used only the master bedroom, yeah..we always sleep in the same room, the 4 of us ), huge living room where we used to spend most our time , a nice pantry and a dining room.
It has semi basement floor, sometimes during wet seasons it caused us a little trouble with the waterflow when the pump didn’t work properly.
I remembered first time we moved there from a small apartement in North Jakarta. Our things were so few they all could fit into 1 room. Little by little, one by one, it took like more than 2 years to finally had the right furniture for every room.
The house was facing east. Every morning I always had it’s windows opened wide until around 9 a.m. I like fresh air, it feels nice.
For 11 years I had a place I call ‘home’. Those precious years. Bad, good, happiness, sadness..I cherished them all. And I remember every single moment while I was living there. I believe, home is the place where your heart is, it should connect to you. I believe it also has a soul.
The last time I was there, I cleaned every single floor by myself. I sat for a while remembering all those beautiful moments. Before I left the house and locked the door, I closed my eyes and whispered to one of it’s wall : ‘thank you’.
After that, I was homeless…