A Surreal Dream of Home

The time I left the home I grew up in, I didn’t really feel what I believed I should have. It didn’t feel like a farewell. I was excited about a new home instead. Only after some time that I settled in a new home, I started dreaming of the old home. I still dream of it even today sometimes. The home comes to life in ways as if it’s still there waiting for me. Although in reality, in that place stands a taller building with bigger hopes and dream homes of countless people. I was quick to move on from the house, is what I believed. But just that space, through all the shades, still is alive with years and memories of half my life spent there.

Our old home went into redevelopment and I was following its jolly-good slow process ever since the beginning. I literally watched the building being demolished in a video my childhood friend made. It was, surreal. The window I sat for hours on, the playground I played, fell and cried on, all and more of it, crumbled down to dust within minutes. Surreal way of watching the old make space for the new. Recently when I visited the site where the new home is being built, I was really happy. I walked in with my friends, who are helping me build my space with their talent and time.
I spent my childhood wishing to someday find true friends; my tribe. I thought it was the most difficult thing. And years later, when the old was transformed into the new, I walked in with some of the many people I treasure. The old home also had pain, darkness, tears and fears. I watched it getting demolished and on it rose this tall manifestation of a hopeful, supported and loving future. It was nothing less than a strong symbolism of change. The person who walked out of that place with scars and memories; walked in now with strength and dreams.

The new home is still in the making and while it still takes it’s own time, I notice the things attached to it. One is there have been many and are many people who are part of this space, this dream and this future. It is absolutely grounding to think there are stories and dreams of people I will never know attached to this space that reaches the tall sky. My home alone housed the dreams and stories of six people and there were more houses along. The reason why this is so powerful is that we often overlook them as they are not visible in plain sight. It is not what we may see when we look at a building. It is the powerful juxtaposition placed between the lines.

Another thing attached to the spaces is the specific spots in and around the home. I can now see them from the upper floor. The juice centre where my grandma would take me as a bribe to accompany her to the market, the school bus stop where I would meet my first long term best-friend, the shops I would go to frequently, homes of people who impacted my life etc. So many of these precious and timeless memory mason jars. It’s interesting how on one side, the world around my house is changing. It also seems to look a little new with a fresh perspective. At the same time, some things are still exactly the same as before. As if this home is a peephole to witness the new and old together.

Over the years, not sure if it’s because of the good haunting dreams of the old home, I grew attached to this space. I decided to invest my heart and soul into shaping it. Now when I try to plan spaces for people I love, I somehow seem to understand them more. Homes reflect personalities. When you try to mould one, just like in pottery, you have to handle it delicately and slowly. While I will try to make a masterpiece that will only make sense to people who belong there, I learn. Learn to be grounded, thankful and hopeful to make it happen.