A home that stays
Over the years of my life I've moved several times and lived in various kind of place that I'd like to call home. From my parents house, to the house I stayed in during college time, the production company temporary housings, hotel rooms, tents, hostels, homestays, and finally a rented place that I could call my home. Over the weekend I got caught with flu that I barely want to lift my head. The difference was I got curled up in the safety and comfort of the home that is my parents. When I finished my last film project, I decided to visit my parents. They just moved to other city from where I spent a big piece of my time growing up. The house that I knew and familiar with is no longer where they're staying. When I stepped in for the first time to their new house in their new city, it made me think a lot about a home. Because the moment I was in, I didn't caught with a strange feeling. Instead, I instantly felt known. That the feeling of home didn't even weaken, just like every time I came to visit them before in the house where I grew up.
In the morning, I could hear my mom in the kitchen. Even the cling and clang of brushed glasses and stainless steels that she uses sound familiar. The smell of the bread and coffee and milk that I can recall from the past. And then, I would hear my dad's voice from the living room reading a line or two from the morning news that he thinks interesting loud enough just before my brothers off the door. Through the years, I lived in countless different kind of housing settlement. In each one, I always prepared not to get too attached, because I know it's temporary. And I know that one day I will build my own home. The one that I will have without my parents that I've known my whole life. But I know that, no matter where or where, there will always be one place that will be my home. It's always here, and it's here to stay, and I'm always welcomed here.