There is something special about a home. As I see it, my home is not just a house, where I happen to live. My Home with a capital H has the ability to make me feel safe, shielded from all the horrors and wrong doings of the world, but also a place I can trust my most memorable and precious memories too. It took me some time to realize how unsettling the absence of a home can be. It made my creativity go down the drain, the restlessness that I felt at home, was heard through my writing. I need a safe place to create, I am not naturally comfortable with the ideas that arise in my mind.
I remember the first time I walked into my home; the front door down stairs is still the same now, but the space behind it was filled with rubbish. The construction workers had their radio on, the Dutch, late folk singer André Hazes was filling the holes and dents of the windy chambers that built up this house. On the stairs in the corner laid a tiny layer of fine white dust. It made me sneeze just looking at it.
The girl from the real estate office excused the workers and missing parts of the house. As I could see, the process of building the house as a whole again was well underway. She couldn’t know back then, that it would take another year and a half for it to be completely finished. I didn’t care back then, I was curious to see what was on the top floor. My floor.
Some men got out a mobile staircase and put it in the hole in the ceiling. They were holding it, while the girl climbed on it. I followed with insecure steps.
“You know, this is not going to stay there. The staircase will be more to the left,’ she said pointing at the barren wooden floor.
A wide space opened itself up to me. It’s hard to explain what happened there, I still don’t know what went on in my head and heart. It’s most comparable to what happens when people fall in love or experience love at first sight. The first click that makes your heart wanting to open up and take all the noise, the wood, the space, the light in.
The dust from downstairs had made its way up and up the holes and stairs into the open space, covering the dark brown wooden shelves of the former storage space that this room used to be. Only two tiny windows lit the room. I could hear the cars from the streets, I couldn’t really see where all the walls would be and the wood was too dark for my taste. The second time I stepped over the threshold, the view was even worse: rain was pouring in from all craters in the corners. Even worse when we climbed up those crooked stairs again, because they had just removed the chimney.
That moment I looked at my father, who I had taken the second time to be the judge. Would he get my feeling for this space? Would he understand what I see in this shack? For a moment, he looked around, walked over to the tiniest window, trying to avoid the open space in the roof, and then he said:
‘I don’t see any downsides.’
My smile broke loose and I felt my heart fill up. My house and I were getting married! Not much later we signed the papers and made it official. Since then I have been building, first in my mind, then in real life. Now the walls are up, the big windows are in place and the furniture is exposed.
I still have no idea what happened, but it was love at first sight. Now the relationship evolved. I came Home with a capital H. Between these trusted walls, I can show my true colors. I can sing, dance and take time to pull back from the hectic world we live in. Make time to feel what lives inside of me and make the most out of that. Home is so much more than my house, it is a relaxed and true state of mind.
This blog is part of the Daily Post weekly creative writing challenge. I challenge you to take part as well. This weeks assignment is called ‘Through the Door’ and is about opening your front door, but in stead of entering in your house as it is now, going back in time or going into the future and describe what happened there. Go and see the whole Daily Post assignment and have fun!