More, more.

[Linn Olofsdotter]

There's a point in your life
where you begin
to realise that your home
is not built of
the grandest furniture or
a splendid wardrobe.

Home
is more than material things.

In 2000,
when my grandma exited
the world for heaven,
my life was completely different now.

Without her physical presence
that was literally with me for
14 years of my life
and 44 years of mum's,

we needed something to fill the
huge hole in our hearts.

So with some cash,
mum renovated our house.

We had new spotlights
and a modern classic chandelier
to brighten our space.
I remember packing my bag and books
30 minutes before dismissal and
I'd keep checking the clock.
Sometimes, I stare at it
as if if I did hard enough,
I could push time forward.

And at the ring of the school bell,
I'd race for the bus to
get to my 'new' home.

Then I grew out of it.
The house is not new anymore.

Next new thing.

Every Saturday
was wardrobe top-up day
for mother and daughter.

Mum had her personal tailor
to customise the next new business suit
while Valerie zips in and out
of Diesel and Blackjack
with cash crumpled in her mini-skirt pockets.

My closet swelled up
week by week -
until it was officially choked up.

I stopped.
Moved on.
Decided to look for something deeper.
I didn't want things anymore.
They're cold.
They don't talk back.
They can't feel.

I wanted warmth.
I wanted living things.
And as I recently shared,
mum didn't [and she still doesn't] allow me
to own a dog,
I begun my colossal project:
the pursuit of the
human touch.

I entered into a world
I've never been to
and it's called
romance.

Twice,
I thought I found home.
That was when
I was
enveloped in someone's arms.
Love lockdown.
It's embarrassing, but
many times,
I'd unknowingly break down.

You know the feeling
of breaking down
when you finally get home
after being lost for a long time?

It's how the kid sobs
at the mall's reception counter
when mummy appears three hours later.

It's how the soldier survives
a brutal war
and arrives in his homeland
after two years.

You just break down
and weep.
You're so reliefed,
you crumble and fall apart.

Countless times,
I experienced this.
And may I highlight
that I remained in a million pieces on the
lowest ground where
I'd to pick myself up later.

You see,
a raging tempest still writhed
in me.

I still felt
a longing,
a pining
for something
more.

And I didn't know
with what could I
pacify it.

I was still
incomplete.

Where is home?

I didn't know where to find it.

[to be continued]

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