The word ‘home’ can be defined for someone in as many ways as there reasons that people have sex. It means different things to different people at different times. Home is a universal human commodity, and one possessing such common foundation for people that we pay extra attention to classify those who don’t have a home to go to, either involuntarily or otherwise.
For me, and for a long time, home has been a permanent base-camp from which I adventure out into the world, exposing myself emotionally and physically to an often harsh climate and environment, to possibilities and potential. Or, less dramatically, to go to work. Whatever.
Once my home was burglarized. My home was broken into by what we suspected was a single young person, because they only took what they could carry under each arm. Nevertheless I moved all my things out of that room and disinfected every square centimetre. I felt violated, not because of what had been stolen, but what they may have touched. Whilst tuning out the visiting police officer attempting to console me (as the ‘man of the household’, offering no comfort to my girlfriend at the time, because he believed a man felt the affront to his ‘castle’ more acutely), I realized that I had exposed a crucial vulnerability to my sense of security – in lieu of a family, the home I created was key.
It didn’t change anything for me, if anything, it made me more fearful, that there was a specific point of fear. To violate this space was to violate me. I had made this sanctuary a cornerstone of my safety and I still need it more than I care to admit.
It remains a place from where I venture, and where I return at night to refuel, rest and resupply. Although I carry my life on my shoulders as I travel, whether as mundane as to work or whether on a longer voluntary trek (this serves to create a home wherever I go), my room is where I feel most consistently comfortable. Puck sleeps on the edge of the bed and I pootle around on my computer or make something. This is the time I have in my room.
I am grateful for my warm home, especially at this time of year. I am grateful for running water and a washer/dryer. I am grateful to have food and the means to cook it. I am grateful I have a considerate, quiet and pleasant roommate. I am grateful for warm showers and soft bedclothes. I am grateful for brick walls and the neighborhood I live in. It’s of great comfort to me that I have this basic commodity. I wish less people had to do without this.
Fourteen Twenty 