Home.
Where everything reminds me of something.
I have been trying for a couple of days but not able to put anything into words.
So much happiness it’s overwhelming. It’s making me sad.
Not bipolar, just me struggling with my emotions.
A torn bedsheet which Ammamma mended with crooked stitches, when her eyesight was failing.
A tiny measuring cup Amma used to measure daal in.
Red hair band(s) from my school days. We never throw stuff away.
The familiar creak of the old almirah where we store bed linen.
Bits and baubles from my childhood.
An old autograph book. Faded ink, distorted smileys, but all the memories still intact.
Pencil stubs and old pens which may have life in them. Calenders hung in descending order of the years that the house has seen. A book shelf filled with books, old and new.
A favorite spoon, a plate I ate from everyday. Frayed table cloth but oh! The familiar sights and smells at the dining table. Comfort food, food that makes you feel right at place.
Tiny’s toys are all over the place, but let’s just unsee that for a moment here.
I click mental pictures all the time to add to my stack of happy memories. Will revisit on nights when sleep isn’t my friend.
I didn’t get time to open the chest of draws with the albums yet. Maybe this time I won’t. It will only add to the weight of memories I will struggle to carry back home. Home, I said home again. Didn’t I?
My home. A place I built with my tiny family. Things I bought. Memories we made.
As you grow up, home gets a different meaning. I just realized a person can call more than one place a home. It’s a place where you are at peace. A home is a place we build. Day after day after day.
Where there’s laughter and joy, a warm bed and perhaps, people to give you company; food on the table even if it’s the lousy food I manage to put together. A place I long to get back to, at the end of the day.
I have a Kottayam home and a Palakkad home. How rich am I? 🥹
❤️
That’s Tiny, at 6, doing a real-time portrait of Achan.
#corememory
Everyday Musings 