Castle On The Hill is one of my favourite songs on Ed Sheeran’s Divide album. Though if we are being honest so are all the songs on there. It was a Tuesday night, I was exhausted and lying in bed letting my mind do all the roaming. As Ed was crooning in my ears about being on his way home, it got me thinking. What is home? Or where is home? I have heard people speak of home as a place—their childhood home. The place they learnt to ride a bicycle, had countless scrapes and cuts climbing trees or trying to do some other daring thing. Home is the place with the creaking stairs and ceiling fan. Home is the place where the kitchen counter has held so many tears, had laughter bounce off of it, listened to many whispers, echoed sentiments and shared love, withstood the onslaught of disagreements and held so many bags on the way in and out. Home is the place that smells like a blend of spices, herbs, air freshener and Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door Aura.
Other people call home a person. They say home is being in the arms of their person. The person in whose arms they find comfort, love, acceptance and absolution. Home is their touch, it is looking in their eyes. Home is hearing them laugh, sleep, cook and just be. Home for them is being around that person, enjoying their company, enjoying being enjoyed, listening and being listened to, caring and being cared for. Home is everything that involves their person.
I have one of these. A childhood home I mean. I am fortunate enough to have grown up in the same house my parents still live in. So according to the first guys, home would be the stench of my goats (Jolene really hates bath day), mixed with the smell of fresh and sometimes rotten fruits (don’t tell ma, gateman may er will lose his job lol). It’s the sound of that heavy front door banging unprovoked, that never silent radio, the pitter-patter of water on the tank stand when it is full, and the whirring of sister’s sewing machine. Home is also all the needless but oh so fun arguments about everything just for the sake of it. Home is 24/7 razzing in sarcasm and sometimes dark and morbid humour.
I have multiple persons in whose arms I find acceptance, absolution and comfort. Let me stop you right there before your mind goes off the deep end and into a rabbit hole. Friends dears, friends. Those are the said “multiple persons”. And even if they aren’t friends, well I am living my best colourful life. Good luck, trying to find fodder for the tales you’d tell your grandkids. That one person though, I don’t know what they mean. So what or where is home really?
For me, home is within me. Home is the space between my heart and my mind in which there are balance and acceptance. But that rarely happens. See, my foolish heart chases its whims with wild abandon my mind can’t fathom. Home is the shaky, ever testy understanding between my heart and my mind. Home for me is the room within me where self-awareness, self-understanding, self-love and self-discovery meet. It is the confidence that self-mastery brings. Home is the space my “inner-knowing” exists, the fire at the core of my being and the light and warmth it brings. Home is the nervous way I tilt my head inward as if listening to my outer goddess outwardly. Home is the whip of self-censure and the comfort of self-acceptance. Home is the winds of adventure and the thrill of seeking and conquering.