Where is home or what is home?

Is it the postcode you were born in or the brick and mortar structure that you grew up in?

Is it the familiarity of the linguistic sounds that everyone around you is cooing or is it the changing seasons that your senses are accustomed to?

People say that one belongs to a place. That somewhere and somehow he is connected to that place by a transparent elasticated thread that keeps stretching no matter how far you move away.

Does it eventually snap?

No, it doesn’t. It just hangs there, loose and sapped out of all its strength.

In an alternate reality, what if we belong to ideas and not just the place? Even if it is a place, what if we are given a choice to choose where we want to belong?

What if the standard definition of home changes from a place of security and comfort to a place of total freedom?

Where may be language barriers open new doors of communication and foliage of red leaves introduce us to a new season.

Where your postcode is no more your identity but just a chapter of your journey. Maybe you also realize the icy mountain air have shortened your breath but the balmy sea breeze lets you take deep breaths.

Mind you, the loose elastic thread is still hanging, almost out of breath.

Walking from one idea to another, from one shore to the other, from one season to the next, you keep moving, but your brick and mortar house is still there. Dilapidated, worn out by exhaustion and boredom. Sigh, the price it had to pay to belong!

The loose elastic thread by now has given up. Snap!

The house crumbles to dust. The wind carries the tiny particles of the dust with it over the balmy seas and the icy mountains. It enjoys it’s own lightness and wants to keep gathering and scattering, but never to belong!

Originally published at thecoffeelicious.com