Home. It’s pretty simple when you’re a kid. At a certain point, you memorize your address. You know the food in the fridge. The signs on the door. Your neighbors. It’s not too complicated to know where home is. It’s a place your parents chose for you. But the older you get, the older I get, I can’t help but wonder where exactly home is. Of course, I still consider my parent’s home, home. But should I?
I lived in Jordan for almost two years, it was my temporary home. Now I’m visiting family then I’ll go back home. But I can’t help that nagging feeling that I should be starting my own home. Even if I don’t get married soon or ever (God forbid) I don’t know that I could live the rest of my life not being able to decorate my own room -my own house, or buy my own food, or choose where exactly I want to live.
I was somewhat on my own in Jordan, despite being completely financially dependent on my parents, it wasn’t easy. The joys were buying my own food and cooking my own meals -though even that wasn’t always fun. But I hated paying bills, I hate even talking about bills. And I never got the joy of designing my own place since I was just renting a room.
As we get older, home becomes a choice, it is a decision. So, where will it be?
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