I used to think that a home was; clean floors clean unstained dish cloths and perfectly cooked and served food.
It is, for some.
But I’m realising that ‘home’ is very different for me.
For me, home is a feeling.
Home is with people who say ‘oh you’re here, have a seat’ and bring you a plate and it doesn’t matter that the food is not five star and the rice is not mwea pishori.
Home is with people who, despite knowing my love for space and seclusion tell me ‘nakuja’ because I randomly mentioned that I fell sick and surviving on bread. And those people come and stretch themselves out on my couch for hours, and probably wash my dishes and run to the shop for me.
I guess what I mean is, home is not the house or the people even. It’s the feeling that you get when you are arguing with your friend in the back of the uber but you know you don’t hate each other but you are right and she is right but you don’t agree on this so you are shouting at each other, but hug goodbye when you part, still annoyed at each other.
Home is when someone tells you they want to do something for you but you tell them no, because you realise they are also struggling but you understand they love you and would make the sacrifice but you don’t let them bleed themselves dry.
Home is when you don’t have to explain yourself to people anymore, or chitchat to pass time because you realise even the silence speaks.
But it means hardwork too. You cannot ignore people for months and expect to still have homely feelings when you meet.
It’s active participation in each other’s lives.
What does ‘home’ look like for you?
#home
#friendship
#contentwriterskenya
