House to Home

“Where to?” a voice beside me asked. 

And on instinct, my mind started throwing ideas over ideas for the question. My face almost turned into a smile, but then realization set in. This was not normal anymore,

I turned towards the voice, my best friend’s face held a wistful smile, silently encouraging me to voice my thoughts. 

My smile disappeared. 

It had been a beautiful routine, for me and my best friend to name out the weirdest things when asked that question, like the ‘inhabitants of my birthgivers’ or ‘the high court’ or ‘dwellings of maniacs’ or ‘the family of dictators’, and on some sad days, just a word.

“Home”. 

I did not realize I had said it out loud. 

My friend was overjoyed with the fact that I replied, and I could not find it in myself to tell her that it was a mistake. 

She had started driving, and for the first 5 minutes of the drive, I questioned myself if the destination can be called ‘home’. My brain fired up memories after memories of evidence to prove it, and my smile almost made a reappearance at those memories.

But then, I looked out of the window and the road reminded me of something, something so horrible that my smile dropped into a deeper frown. My brain now replaying memories that I had nightmares about. 

In the next 5 minutes of the drive, I desperately tried to shove those thoughts in a deep corner of my brain, before my breathing became too shallow for my friend to notice something was wrong with me. I couldn’t afford that, if my friend knew I still fought the demons of my memory, she will be worried too much and a pitying expression will always greet me. I was tired of pity. 

Looking out the window again, I realized we were already about to reach the destination. I couldn’t even bring myself to think of the word. 

So, in the last minutes of the drive, I started preparing myself for the inevitable. The so-called destination. 

I started putting happy thoughts in my mind, like the therapist had recommended. Like the weather that had beautiful grey clouds, or the boutique had a classy dress that suited my style. But I couldn’t stop the awful feeling of reaching the destination. 

My friend started stealing glances towards me, and I realized that my breathing had turned too shallow to go unnoticed now. 

Still oblivious to the reason of my panicky state, she stopped the car in the driveway of the destination.

I couldn’t look up today, normally I would be indifferent towards things, but that one word had made my semblance of stability fall apart.

 My friend trying desperately to get me out of my thoughts said, “You are home.” 

Her voice was soft, like she meant no harm. But the damage was done. My sanity shattered.

Now, all I could hear was a mind-numbing shrill ringing in my ears. I could not hear her talking beside me anymore.

 Starting to feel claustrophobic in the small space of the car, I fumbled for the handle. Finally opening it after three tries, I nearly fell out of the car. Breathing became a task. That was all I could concentrate on, breathing. In and out.

My friend’s voice had reached a new frenzy now. She rushed around the car to support me, but I shrugged away her comfort. 

She just stood there, letting me have my space. 

And when the ringing in my ears stopped and I could breathe without struggling, I mumbled something similar to goodbye and started walking away. 

She was shouting my name behind me, but all I could focus on was breathing and taking one step in front of other. 

I reached the porch and stood there, unable to go inside. 

My friend made a wise decision to let me be and drove away after asking me to call when I feel okay. 

Now my brain conjured up the difference between a house and a home. 

And I realized that however hard I try, I will never be able to return home.

Because home was not the walls and furniture standing before me, it was in the people that lived here.

Lived. 

They left, taking the piece of the house that made it home with them. 

I could vividly remember my parents faces now, and my little brother’s, hear their voices. And the accident that took them away.

I couldn’t unsee the accident, I was in the car just behind them with my aunt when the car skid and toppled over, taking everything that ever mattered to me. 

I had lived that moment every night of the 2 months after the accident. 

 All I had wished every day of these months was to be in that car and die with them. 

The therapist’s voice came to my mind now, “They would’ve never wanted you to be with them, they would have wanted you to live this life, the life they couldn’t.”

I stood there on the porch for a long time, supported by the columns, not quite having the courage to go inside.

My breathing had returned to normal but my mind still wandered darker paths. I remembered my therapist asking me to come to him right away if I face something like this, but I was tired of pity.

I needed normalcy, reality and nobody promised that.

I sighed and turned around, walking away from the place.

This time, my mind started whirring on the fact that I was homeless.

Sure, I had a house, I had funds to give my future a better curve, I had relatives and great friends to support me emotionally, but they didn’t make a home.

I was asked if I wanted to get adopted and I had punched the officer in the face.

I realize that I have reached the graveyard in my aimless wandering. It had recently become my recluse.

Without contemplating if I want to go inside or not, I pass through the gates.

I reach my parent’s grave and find my aunt sitting on a bench.

One look at me and she did not bother asking me questions, or wiping the tears that were unstoppable now.

She just tapped the bench inviting me to sit. And then she hugged me tightly, whispering reassurances.

And after some time, as I stumbled back with my aunt, feeling some semblance of normalcy returning, I decided I did not want to keep living like this--homeless. 

And as me and my aunt chatted and laughed through some silly topics, trying to jog away the bad memories, we finally felt the house becoming a home again.