Home Sweet Home

Sweet home? Never heard of it?! I did not even know how to define "home" until I settled down. My childhood was not that miserable, but it always brought me a sense of pain for myself, for my mom. With my mom's hardwork, I was not scratched by the stiff stuffing protruding from the mattress when I was a child. Nether did I jumble together with my sisters with fleas leaping. That was because we did not have a mattress. We had only boards. Yet, I tended to fall down on the ground while sleeping. I did not tell my mom that. I did not tell my other four sisters who slept together with me, either. I thought it was a sign that I was anxious to seek for freedom when I was young. It was a symbol that I enjoyed being busy even in sleep. Yes. I always kept myself busy and searched something missing in my life. For that sake, I treated my home as an impersonal place. I did not think that my home was a sanctuary that deserved me to spend time staying in it although people kept saying "our homes offer us the beauty of blooms and it replenishes our energy." Beloved treasures? It never happened. At least, it never happened in my childhood.