home is (not) my comfort zone
(foto)
for three weeks straight, my family and I spent our weekends in kampung. sometimes we visited both kampung.
it’s just a common weekend for those who want to escape the hectic city life, the busy monday-to-friday schedules or the slothful days we all wake up to in the morning. it was my turn for the bathroom already, and it left me wondering what kind of shower thoughts the person before me had for an hour. just like that one time (or many times) my brother took his time sleeping in the toilet, despite the fact that abah told him to hurry up for school.
the morning always came with me rolling in bed for few minutes and I terribly cursed my bladder when I needed to pee. that was the moment I realised how baffling it was for me to give up on every single comfort zone (which didn’t seem to meet an end). I sighed as I pushed my sister aside, then I crawled out of the bed to the toilet, just in time ummi came into the room to ask my sister to help her in the kitchen. I felt like I just got caught in action for something bad.
but my sister was still sleeping (with the never ending drool stamped all over the bed), I would then be the only person who would help ummi make the breakfast. you see. the weekends I had so far sounded normal. I didn’t think much about it (because I’m in the middle of my semester break), so I’m here to help my family in whichever ways I could. somehow, I asked my sisters: do you like it this way? this isn’t healthy for the rest of you.
I meant about the weekend we had so far, especially when tomorrow is monday and we’d reach home just before midnight (also, abah’s microsleep is worrying). few hours then, they left home for school.
the guilty conscience would then hit me hard when abah and ummi had to drive for hours back and forth. how I wish I could legally drive now… maybe I’m just overthinking over something petty. my brother got sick so he was sent to kampung under maktua’s surveillance (babysitting probably isn’t the proper word for the motive). why? so that he got enough time to rest, if not, he’ll go out to hang out instead. time sure flies in a blink which I reckon it’s almost a month now he hasn’t been to school (although a month without him at home isn’t that hard to cope with). he told us he’s doing fine there. we also spent some time reading the texts he got from his friends, he was delighted by their warm wishes (and he got sad at the same time), wishing he could go to school sooner. and I have to agree with ummi and passenger sometimes, the way they talk about people missing their home only when they hit the road.
sometimes we go miles away that we slowly forget what a real home can me us feel, or when someone else tells us how he defines home, we’d be among the curious fools who tries to accept the other side of reality. maybe home can’t make us stay closer or maybe home makes us travel away (but I know that we’re supposed to enjoy the journey).
but when it ends, how would we know which home we belong to? home is where the heart is, home is where the hurt is.
as I’m writing this, I’m in a state of turmoil. it’s even implausible to say that I’m all I want for myself. I went to many places with different homes and families, yet I wasn’t sure what I wanted all along the journey. if home can’t make us come back for more, then it isn’t home. we are addicted to it, but we’re also learning that pain isn’t forever. at least that’s something I could say for myself, regardless where I go: the beauty the world has promised me about, the people who’d treat me nice, and the jokes and tears I’ve kept in the back of my head. there’s probably one home I’d hold dear in my heart.
despite all the aforementioned reasons, I can’t deny the superior feeling it gives me when I’m already there. that feeling begins to agitate me with a vexing, forward-reaching sense of a lack that should be filled. in the end, I can always say this, home is (not) my comfort zone. home makes us travel for more, home keeps calling us to come back and home is where our first and last points will meet. there are many cycles for that to happen and for us to stay focused. sometimes the journey has so many junctions, besides the slippery road down the hill. with home, there’s a family, and we’ll eventually go back to the place we belong, together with whom we love the most.
home is where the heart is, home is where the hurt is (and for me, home is you).
it’s just a common weekend for those who want to escape the hectic city life, the busy monday-to-friday schedules or the slothful days we all wake up to in the morning. it was my turn for the bathroom already, and it left me wondering what kind of shower thoughts the person before me had for an hour. just like that one time (or many times) my brother took his time sleeping in the toilet, despite the fact that abah told him to hurry up for school.
the morning always came with me rolling in bed for few minutes and I terribly cursed my bladder when I needed to pee. that was the moment I realised how baffling it was for me to give up on every single comfort zone (which didn’t seem to meet an end). I sighed as I pushed my sister aside, then I crawled out of the bed to the toilet, just in time ummi came into the room to ask my sister to help her in the kitchen. I felt like I just got caught in action for something bad.
but my sister was still sleeping (with the never ending drool stamped all over the bed), I would then be the only person who would help ummi make the breakfast. you see. the weekends I had so far sounded normal. I didn’t think much about it (because I’m in the middle of my semester break), so I’m here to help my family in whichever ways I could. somehow, I asked my sisters: do you like it this way? this isn’t healthy for the rest of you.
I meant about the weekend we had so far, especially when tomorrow is monday and we’d reach home just before midnight (also, abah’s microsleep is worrying). few hours then, they left home for school.
the guilty conscience would then hit me hard when abah and ummi had to drive for hours back and forth. how I wish I could legally drive now… maybe I’m just overthinking over something petty. my brother got sick so he was sent to kampung under maktua’s surveillance (babysitting probably isn’t the proper word for the motive). why? so that he got enough time to rest, if not, he’ll go out to hang out instead. time sure flies in a blink which I reckon it’s almost a month now he hasn’t been to school (although a month without him at home isn’t that hard to cope with). he told us he’s doing fine there. we also spent some time reading the texts he got from his friends, he was delighted by their warm wishes (and he got sad at the same time), wishing he could go to school sooner. and I have to agree with ummi and passenger sometimes, the way they talk about people missing their home only when they hit the road.
sometimes we go miles away that we slowly forget what a real home can me us feel, or when someone else tells us how he defines home, we’d be among the curious fools who tries to accept the other side of reality. maybe home can’t make us stay closer or maybe home makes us travel away (but I know that we’re supposed to enjoy the journey).
but when it ends, how would we know which home we belong to? home is where the heart is, home is where the hurt is.
as I’m writing this, I’m in a state of turmoil. it’s even implausible to say that I’m all I want for myself. I went to many places with different homes and families, yet I wasn’t sure what I wanted all along the journey. if home can’t make us come back for more, then it isn’t home. we are addicted to it, but we’re also learning that pain isn’t forever. at least that’s something I could say for myself, regardless where I go: the beauty the world has promised me about, the people who’d treat me nice, and the jokes and tears I’ve kept in the back of my head. there’s probably one home I’d hold dear in my heart.
despite all the aforementioned reasons, I can’t deny the superior feeling it gives me when I’m already there. that feeling begins to agitate me with a vexing, forward-reaching sense of a lack that should be filled. in the end, I can always say this, home is (not) my comfort zone. home makes us travel for more, home keeps calling us to come back and home is where our first and last points will meet. there are many cycles for that to happen and for us to stay focused. sometimes the journey has so many junctions, besides the slippery road down the hill. with home, there’s a family, and we’ll eventually go back to the place we belong, together with whom we love the most.
home is where the heart is, home is where the hurt is (and for me, home is you).