The process of becoming home

Any- and I repeat, any place, even this crammed room too tiny for you and your ego, this city too dark and small, this neighborhood too unfriendly can become your dearest home. Maybe it is because you get used to it, or maybe it is more because you grow to become an integral part of this place.

You contribute to this place from the very first day your foot steps in there. By finding your ways around, modifying and molding the environment around you, you start to create it as well. By putting your heart and soul into it, by every poster added to the room, by realizing at some point that this mess near bed, stretching to the desk and chair and closet too, is actually familiar. This is your own organized chaos that says “home”, it is in all the times your bathroom floor has felt you crying, in all the exact places for exact items.

It is also defined by the distance you have traveled to this place, together with the pillow from your home, together with furniture you dragged into this apartment, together with various rules and customs that emerged by themselves as you inhabited this place fully.

It is only you that knows when and how this curtain broke, and how to open the window now without a rattle, or why is it that one door of your closet is always open, whereas other one shut down. Which shelf lacks a nail to hold it properly, and where all your shoes are hidden, what is this lonely hanger by the door waiting for, and what is in the cartoon box inside your suitcase, inside the half-closed closet.

One person once told me a thing about settling for places that seem not enough to you, when you have to lean back in your own room so to move around it, and when you buy certain items that will travel with you to new homes, so to contribute to them as well- seems like it took me one year to finally understand it (and thank you for that.)

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