As a kid growing up, my home was always my safe haven. I was perfectly happy to head straight there on the last day of school instead of going to the movies or hanging out at a friends place. My bedroom was my happy place, with it’s cheery sunflower yellow walls and navy blue curtains. (This may sound like a weird combination but it was the color scheme for my cousins wedding and it’s gorgeous!) Nothing has really changed since then. I still love being at home with my family as opposed to going out. If I can stay in my PJs all day reading novels then that day would be classified a #Success without a moments hesitation. But ‘going home’ doesn’t mean what it used to.
We spent the past week in Howick for my dads 60th and then Durban for Christmas. It was lovely. We stayed at a quaint little BnB for the birthday getaway with rolling grassy hills, trees so tall I had to lay back to look at them and no tv. This meant there was nothing to do but hang out with each other and relax. It was wonderful. The girls had a ball running and playing outside instead of being cooped up in our apartment and my folks got some proper quality time with them. My sister stays in Cape Town and will be moving to France next year so it was also a chance to spend time with her.
After the holiday it was time to head back to my folks place. Which is what got me thinking. When did I start thinking of it as ‘my folks place’ instead of ‘home’? My room is exactly the same. My folks still make me feel as if that is where I belong and go out of their way to make us all feel comfortable. And yet it doesn’t feel like it’s my space anymore. Even though I love being there I feel as if I’m visiting now. Maybe it’s living out of a suitcase that does it, or knowing that it’s a temporary stay. I don’t know. Maybe it’s more about building a new home after getting married. Creating a new dynamic as a Head of the Household (I come from a male led family structure but that would never work for me 😂😂 I am too opinionated and stubborn to be an old school Indian wife) as opposed to being in the Child role. I imagine it’s the same for kids who move out on their own. You get used to living by your own rules.
Even though I was sad to leave my parents today, I was also looking forward to coming ‘home’. In between trying to control my motion sickness on the drive back to Jhb and praying for teleportation to hurry up and be a thing, I was thinking on this. We have moved three times in under two years so it’s not the apartment or the suburb or even the province that does it. For me coming home means being alone with my husband and our girls. It doesn’t matter where we live. They are my home. I am really not looking forward to the day when my girls no longer feel as if we are their home but such is life I guess.