I visited many places all around the world. Some of them was just ok, others were amazing.
I met many people, I heard many stories, I had great times, valuable experiences.
But when my plane landed and I approached home slowly, watching the traffic and the familiar streets, I always have strange, hard to describe feelings.
The trees in the garden, the flowers, the plants in the backyard, they all welcome me. My family and friends make my heart beats faster. Warmness in my heart…
How lucky I am to have a home!
I am wondering, what makes an accomodation to a home? Is it the neighbourhood? Or the furnitures? Or the friends and family nearby?
I think, I feel myself at home where I live, because it belongs to me, I own this property. No matter how far and how long I travel, it is still waiting for me with its warm atmosphere, with thousands of sweet memories.
And all the people who are important to me, they all welcome me whenever I return.
For me, this is a place I call home. A place where I can always return. A place where I am familiar. A place where I can have roots in the soil.
I find it unfortunate that so many people needs to rent an accomodation and many more cannot even afford it.
How can this society form real families without roots? How can we live without origin?
How can we set our way in the future if we don’t know where do we come from?
What kind of future is waiting for a society where there are no homes, no families, no real women and men?