On Home

Translated…

When I was four, or five, my uncle who didn’t have any kids asked my father, to let me stay over at his house for a night.  That, was a very, long day, it was, the very first time, I’d felt, so lonely; early next morn, I’d stood outside, my uncle’s house, waited, for my dad to come and pick me up, the moment that my dad showed up, I’d immediately, gone up to him, pulled tight to his hand.  My aunt told my dad, “She’d stood out here for so many hours already, she’d even, skipped breakfast!”  My dad asked me, “Why do you look like you’re about to cry?  Guess, that no matter how wonderful the homes are, they all, pale by comparison to your own, huh?”

When my mother was in her fifties, she’d once, gone to my eldest sister’s to stay for two weeks.  As she’d hauled along her small luggage case, returned to our small alley, as she saw that red front door, she was moved to tears, and, said to herself, “This, is my home!”  when she’d told me of this memory, I was way too young, I just felt, odd, how my mother was so moved, didn’t understand, the restrictions, of living under someone else’s roof!

In my house, my mother was like the empress dowager, my father, her faithful servant.  I’d once, felt unfair for dad’s sake, and couldn’t let go of, my mother’s roughness toward me from time to time.  But, with the coming of age, I’d finally understood, what made her that way; and, when I thought about my father who had passed on, I’d felt, even more in awe, at how he’d used love, to tolerate everything that my mother did.

The day after my eighty-seven year-old, demented mother was, taken into a nursing home, early in the morn, I’d headed over to visit her; as I was about to go, mom called out to me, “Take me home now!”, and that, was when I’d heard my heart shatter.

Slowly, mom got used to her new living environment.  As I’d gone on strolls with her, I’d, told her some funny things that happened, which made her laugh aloud; as we’d, both prayed to god, to make her better, she’d stated, a couple of very energetic “amen”; when I’d told her about my job, she’d given me applause, because she couldn’t make a single cent now.

Although mom no longer remembered me as her daughter anymore, but, I still want to, guard her, because, guarding her is like, I’m guarding my home.

So, you see how the concept of “home” is changed, from a safe place in one’s mind, to a place where one feels that s/he belongs to, and, in one’s lifetime, the meanings of home may change, but, that need to find a place to feel at home in is always, constant.