A place to call home
My ideas about what a physical space that I would call home would look and feel like. And a description of an evening at home.
The feeling of being at home is something that I have been drawn to think about ever since I left home to adult. In small ways, I have had some version of a place to call home, have peeked into what home feels like and have had been periods when I have felt at home. These sensibilities have so far come through the unintentional shaping and moulding of them and in unpredictably random slices of time. More often than not, the sense of being at home has eluded me so adamantly over extended seasons that I gave up wanting to keep chasing them again and again. Yet, I find myself still mulling over the questions of (1) What do I want in a home? and (2) What would such a home feel like? Asking these questions has led me to take notice of the things that my eyes wander and get drawn towards whenever I am in any space - whether that is other people's, third spaces, institutional places or otherwise. I am more often now finding myself then able to lay down the brush strokes and pick the colors, draw the shapes and imagine the things I want in a home.
What I would want in a home is:
big prominent mirrors almost two-thirds way the height of your walls
ambient lighting from the array of lamps, bulbs and light strips allayed around the space
a blanket that hugs you and that as you hold it tight threatens to drag you swiftly into an audacious satiating slumber
a soft couch that takes up well-deserved space of that living room, assured in the personality it brings to the fore
form and functionality of the shelves on the walls. The shelves add some book-stacking space and a bit more surface area to place some ornamental corner pieces composing of artfully shaped carvings and hefty chic decor
color that pops from the pieces of adorning items, posters and art on the walls hung up mid-high that grab your attention and whisper to you asking you to glance at it again, and then let you go on with your doings
chairs comfortable for your body to sink into and get lost in your thoughts or work such that when you snap out of that trance or flow-state, you get the feeling that you received more than you have given
smooth mixed with slightly rough painted edges that fade and falter into each other from the irregularity of the paint-job that the handyman spruced up before you moved in
fridge space ample enough for your erratic and rhythmic cooking habits
an island that compliments the distance between the kitchen and the living room; melting adequately into that space; keeping itself very much needed through its regular use and also appreciated as a center-piece
a sturdy gas stove that is sure of itself in handling the expansive work of feeding this body given to you
cutlery that welcomes your use through the avalanche of feeding that they enable
a comprehensive spice collection within reach while you realize the evening’s meal
wooden floors that have acquired that middle-aged tender creak; that as they take you around the house and as you walk on them, you can't help but sense how kind they are to your feet
doors that you join hands with you as you enter each space.
[An Evening]
In the bedroom, you slither out of your day clothes and, in a well-rehearsed sequence of moves, don into your homey fit, and into the laundry bag you down day's clothes onto the piling heap. In the bathroom, you begin slathering your hands with the earthy and gentle soap, building up a lather with enough consistency to beguile the day's oily layer on your skin that when rinsed, eases away leaving your face refreshed. You meld, into your skin some toner and moisturizer and proceed to unwrap the evening.
The music you put on corrals you to surrender to it. You dance in place getting entranced for a moment as your meal nears ready. You switch off the stove, serve tonight’s potion of food into the evenly-weighted plate and shift your weight towards the living room. Atop the oblong-wavy shaped coffee table you lay your plate on the mat. The table hugs your food, borrowing some of the heat and continues to hold the food in your stead throughout the night.
The movie you pick from your rolling list of movies to see and is one that you've waited for a night like this to finally indulge. Your television is just sizable and crispy enough to immerse you into the motion picture with sound that pushes you more and more into the world that you have chosen for tonight. The film comes to a part where you pause, float into the kitchen, fill a small bowl with Van Leeuwen's Cookies and Cream ice-cream, and in one fell swoop, shape-shift back under the blanket and press play to continue.
The film does a number on you and you let the credits roll as the closing score welcomes you gently back into this world. You look at your nearly emptied ice cream bowl, and swab the little scoopable lumps that might otherwise have escaped your consumption. The blanket is then folded, the TV turned off and the remote placed squarely close to the edge on the table. The plate and utensils land in the sink - a rest stop for the night before being proceeded into the dishwasher the next morning.
On the way to your room, you dim off the lights and the living room darkens to the encroaching moonlight silhouetting the space. You shut the bedroom door behind you. Only the soft light from a corner of your room remains. You dip into the bathroom, switch on the bright lights for the toothbrushing. With a few sips of water, you swoosh around the mix in your mouth then finish. You off the bathroom lights and pull the bathroom door to a nearly-closed state. From the side of the bed, you wiggle underneath the cooled sheets and blanket and form them into the shape of you. In stealing a glance at your phone you press play on a more matured version of Connective Tissue, and set a timer for an hour. The music weaves its threads and frees you to sink, so effortlessly into a deep and soulful sleep.