I love my bed.
It's a crinkly old fold-up futon frame with second-hand mattress that gives me back pain on worst days, but I love it very much.
I love my apartment.
It's so small that it hardly fits for one and includes neverending battle against bugs and dust, but I love it very much.
I love my teddy bear.
It's a cheap mini bear with picture hoodie that I ordered on discount on Rite-aid. It's not soft at all and pretty ugly, but I love it very much.
I love my home.
By home, I mean my tiny buggy apartment with the crinkly futon bed and that ugly teddy bear. Can I do better? I can. It's just scary to leave 'home'. And yes, I love it very much.
I am not the same person that live with my family on my idyllic island. I am not the same person that live with my ex-husband and his kids. Those were 'home' too, but now they seemed so vague.
People change and people grow. Experiences and interactions mold and shaped us like the beating and heating on iron shaft to create a sword. Sometimes, it means new home.
My family will always be my home, as well as the people I love the most. That includes myself, too. Please excuse me as I need to give myself a hug and say: "I am home."
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