Home

Home is

• the house full of light and space
• embroidered tablecloths and pillow cases
• pictures and sculptures on walls and shelves passed in the family from generations
• the joy that only pets can bring: three black cats, Dalmatian and yellow mongrel
• “Milord” on full blast on Sunday early morning
• the breathtaking garden with a fish pond
• the freshly cut orange and violet tulips on the kitchen table in springtime
• gigantic spiders rushing inside right after the start of heavy downpour in summer
• the taste of red autumn paprika stuffed with minced meat and rice
• the smell of ginger cookies and the soothing voice of Bing Crosby from an old cassette player at Christmas

Home is

• a tall tower with no doors or windows
• Hope and Hopelessness playing dice in the dark by a dim candlelight
• the bitter cold piercing your heart and soul
• the TV set killing the silence ripe with unspoken accusations and unfulfilled dreams
• the stillness, peace and quiet when you need a thousand of battles to win the war
• the evil ghosts, persistent murmurs and whispers leaving you numb during a day and sleepless at night
• the suspense and tension filling the air till bursting, suffocating

My childhood home appeared wonderful, but rotted slowly inside. It felt lonely and sad. So very lonely and so very sad.

All rights reserved.