What is the difference between a house and a home? Some would argue that they are the same thing. Others would strongly disagree. Personally, I believe that for something to qualify as one’s home, one must feel safe, comfortable, and happy within it. A home is a place of wellbeing and trust, where one can speak their mind and be who they really are. Kick off their shoes, and relax, so to speak. Sure, a house can be a home, but a home isn’t necessarily a house.
For me, growing up, my house didn’t always feel like my home. I didn’t always feel like the general atmosphere of my house was a good one, which is, of course, necessary to make a home. Now though, I love my home. I love being at home, coming home, staying home, all of it. And not to be sappy, but I think that the people who live in your house are the people who make it feel like home. For me, I think it’s my mom that makes our house a home. Even though she’s at work a lot, and we’re all at school, she still manages to send her mother-waves throughout the house and make it feel warm and welcoming.
Ever since I got back from Orlando (yesterday at about 4 AM), I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Our empty house doesn’t feel quite like a home. It’s like a puzzle with just one piece missing. It’s almost there. so achingly close that you can feel it, but it still isn’t quite right. Mildly interesting how a few people can fill up a house so much, to the point that it feels quite full, even though it isn’t even close.
This whole post was sort of random, so I apologize about that. However, I do have a poem to share, which I will do either tomorrow or Saturday. So check back soon!