When I was a baby, I thought my home was the entire world. This world contained me, my mom, my dad, and my sixty-years-old grandma. I thought my home was where I eat my rice congee with ground beef. I thought my home was where I crawl under the storage bed and pretend it was my house. I thought my home was where the heater clicks in the winter and the fans buzzing in summer. I thought my home was where my mom would sing to me before bed “Wa la la la la la la~ Rainy day, you can see it’s not just my day.” and dad would sing to me in his old Honda “I love you, loving you, as the mouse love the rice.” I thought my home was where I could have such a simple sweet time.
Until one day, I went to school.
Since then, my teacher taught me that my home was the country, and I believed so. I thought my home was where I contribute to a community and get something in return someday in the future. I thought my home was where I got scared when my parents found out my 60 out of 100 scores test, was where I got proud when I showed my 100 percent assignment to them. I thought my home was where I could get changed and buy popcorn or crisp noodles after school. I thought my home was where I helped with chores and get my mom’s praise in return. I thought my home was where I could have such a simple joy.
Until one day, I went to the countryside for summer.
I cried because I had to leave my home and live with only my grandparents for a month. A few days later, I found the joy of this new part of my home. I thought this home was where I could play with firework all day. Sending little rockets into the water like a torpedo, digging holes with firecrackers. I thought this home was where I could play in the mountain for an entire day, whether fishing or riding a bicycle, then go back to have my dinner after I see smokes from chimneys. I thought this home was where people watch those fat screen television under the yellow and dim filament light bulb hanging on a wire from the ceiling. I thought this home was where I could go to bed when it’s only 8 and wake up at 5 when the rooster crow. I thought this home was where it rained for days and nights for a week and ruined all of my firecrackers. I thought my home can always be this natural and wild.
Until one day. I left all of these, I went into an entirely new world, as a stranger.
I thought, there was no home, there was only self. I thought humans were always alone, all these people, were so far from my reach. I thought, there was no home, there was only an infinity amount of knowledge left for me to explore. Working like a bot, walking around like a zombie. I thought there was no home, there was only loneliness. My bed lay under my bed, my face rolled up on the side of my tears, my phone screen hit my finger, the internet browsed me, and sleep fell into my brain. I thought there was no home, no self. I thought I was consumed by all the unknown of my life.
Until one day…
I want this essay to create a feeling of progress, and showing what my understanding of what home is in my different time periods. I always thought that I know what home is but then when I go to a new environment, my understanding of home is changed. I want this essay to express a feeling of not belonging to anywhere and I left the last paragraph unfinished so that there are unlimited possibilities, which I think is also true for the future of all of us. I like that in the second to last paragraph I made myself passive but I feel it can be written better.
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