Home

The general idea of home suggests a cosy place. When one thinks of home, one thinks of going back to the place where there are people waiting, where the best meals are cooked, where a warm bed gives the best nights of sleep.

But “home” can be a larger concept. When we are travelling abroad, “home” becomes our country. Suddenly, we do not think of the house with three rooms. We think about our city, the wonders of our nation, the common ground of the people who share the same language. If the journey is even farther away, to the other side of the world, home is not only a country, but a continent as well. I suppose if we ever get the chance to travel through the Universe, we will call ourselves Earthlings and our planet will be our home.

The word “home” can be associated with less pleasant realities. Even when a family is broken and there is violence and the thought of going back is aching, it is the only choice when there is nowhere else to turn to. A foster home, although socially seen with suspicion, can be the only home one has met.

Ultimately, the place we dream of having one day is probably our home. The place that is really ours, that we achieve with our work, that we pay for every month, that we decorate the way we want against our parents’ wishes.

Maybe in a more sentimental way, home is where we feel good, independently of the presence or lack of walls. A house gives the comfort, the sensation of safety. But can it really bring happiness?

Is there a better place than lying in your lover’s arms? Is there a bigger sense of satisfaction than when you are sharing a meal with your family? Can a baby ever feel as safe as he did while inside his mother’s body?

And maybe, in some twisted way, home is ourselves. No matter where we live, how we live, with whom we share our life... In the end it is just us, alone, remembering the home we built and fearing the home we will go to.

Maria Pereira