Our home in Muscat - on the 1st floor...
Maya Angelou said " I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself".
She also said "The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned".
It really is an ache to have your own home - may be your very own, or it may be rested; it may be a large home, or it may be a single room, an apartment, a shack, a tiny space - but if it is someplace you can rest your head, and call your own even if for a short time, that place is home. And, you will do it up - a spray of flowers in an old jam bottle, a stem of a money plant, a little bit of color here and there, a comfy cushion or two on a sitting arrangement, a cozy kitchen ...it builds up in your own way, it slowly reflects you, absorbs all your feelings, shares all your thoughts, and becomes your sanctuary in the world.
If someone violates your home, or takes it away, or disregards it, or circumstances cause you to lose your home, the ache is piercing and nothing can either assuage that pain or lessen it...the pain stabs and drills into your heart, into the very core of your being...
For 9 long years, this was our home. Recently my daughter took her husband to see Muscat - naturally she took him to see the building where our apartment was - this picture she sent opened the floodgates of my memory and I could again see it as it was when we lived there - every little bit; even the smells came back to me...the feelings, the colors, how we had done it up, every little detail...
For, no matter who lives there now, for that little time in eternity, that place was home...