Home: A Four-Letter Word That Never Felt Mine.

HOME🏡

Home. 

A four letter word, complete in itself.

Just bricks and beams??

And you Humans yearn to be at home?

Or can we can say that Home is not just bricks and beams—it's the quiet faith between souls, the soft place where trust curls up and sleeps without fear.

Home, to an infant, isn’t a room with walls or a crib in the corner.
It’s a feeling—intimate, primal, and wordless.

It’s the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath a soft chest—the first sound they ever trusted.
It’s the warmth of skin and the scent of milk, familiar and grounding like gravity.
It’s being cradled in arms that never let go, even when the world spins too fast.

To an infant, home is eyes that always find them in a room.
It’s voices that sing lullabies in half-sleep, hands that rock them through storms they can’t name.
It’s the place where every cry gets answered—not just with help, but with knowing.
Where their needs are met not out of duty, but out of love so natural, it feels like breathing.

In that sacred space, trust is born.
Long before they understand the world, they learn:
“I am safe here. I am seen. I matter.”

And that—that is what home should always be.

It is what home should be YOUR SAFE SPACE,

Place where you are loved, seen and feel at home.

In Hindi we say, "Ghar ki chaar deewaari ke andar hi asli sukoon hai."

But what can I say,

I am a hopeless fool who always believed and wished home to be my world away from this harsh world, where people believed me, respected me, cheered for me, stood by me and loved me. My home would be the place where no one and nothing could hurt me, I would be the princess there. I would be the apple of everyone’s eyes there. A place with people who would die for me and even kill if required, they would have my back no matter what.

Moreover than these strong display of power, there would be softness and comfortless. My home where people would understand and accept and love me for who I am, and not what they expect or believe me to be.

A place where I know that even if I did something terribly wrong, they would stand by me in front of the world, and correct in privacy. A place where I could kiss my parents and tell them that I love them. A place where they would call me Salo, you are my little baby, and you will always be our baby and we will always be proud of whatever you choose to be. We will always love you you no matter what. We will love you even if you say something wrong, we will love you even if you break some croceries, we will love you even if you are confused what to do, we will love you even if you decide to rot in bed and keep overthinking.

I wanted a home to let me express myself in the most beautiful way ever, to let me just be myself, and show them that they raised me right. 

Not because I owe them something, because I think they deserve it.

Because I would want the same for my child, if I had one.

I would want them to be who they are, what they are, and what they wanna do, irrespective of what I want from them.

But what can I say, did I get what I wanted? Well do we really?

NO.

I mean I don’t want to be a privileged brat, I had a house that gave me everything, all the luxurious amenities. They gave me good food, good education, good vacations, good place to live in, good clothes, every possible tangible thing possible in their control. Also, I forgot to mention the good virtues and qualities that I gained for observing them, some which they possessed and some which I yearned for them to have.

They gave me everything that I never asked for, and nothing that I really needed.

They gave me everything but that never felt enough. All I felt was you can keep it, I don’t want it, and I just want you.

 Year by year, that thing, that little attention also was shifted to my younger siblings, I never complained about it like why dont you love me anymore or whatever, I just started feeling that I did something wrong, and maybe there could be something that I can do for them to take them love me.

So I started doing little little things to make them happy, or make them proud of me. But all they could ever see were my flaws, every wrong thing. I kept doing good for me to be seen and loved but it was never enough.

It’s like we say one wrong could turn thousand goods undo. It was always that way with me.

Gradually, I started losing faith in myself, felt unlovable. Tried finding love outside my home. But the world so empty that it never has love to offer but the home being more emptier than the world that I started finding comfortless in the world rather than my home.

All I ever craved was my home, and always compared the world to it. And when the world and the home everything started feeling emptier and hollower than ever, I tried to console myself that maybe I should return back to my home. Because at the end of the day it’s my home, my people. And people in the same home tend to stick to each other. But I was wrong. This home lost many of its own people, so I imagined they would have felt what it feels to lose someone of you, but it was just a matter of time. It was just a few days after which things became back to normal. 

Normal as in feeling that the harsh world is comfier than the comfortness of my home.

Because this home may have given me ME, which I am really grateful of. Grateful for providing me with everything. But also I am pissed  with it at the same time for giving me lifelong traumas, trust issues, fear of intimacy, or deep insecurity, depression, anxiety, or emotional numbness—unsure how to name what they feel. There's often a constant fear of abandonment, chronic overthinking, low self-worth, and difficulty setting boundaries. People-pleasing and  isolate myself or lash out in anger. Trauma leading to attachment issues, perfectionism, emotional disregulation, and even complex PTSD. It distorts me to see myself and the world—leaving them either constantly craving love or rejecting it out of fear. These aren’t just "attitude problems"—they are the natural outcomes of living without emotional safety, trust, or consistent love. Healing from this kind of pain takes time, compassion, and sometimes, someone finally understanding where it all began.

I have no words to say, just that my home never felt like home, because it was never mine. It was just a house where I grew up. All I wanna do is create a loving home for my family, it would be the family I choose, which would be my safe space and the safe space of my homies. A home, my home where everyone would be loved, No Matter What.

I would make a home which would feel safe to be in.

Where I would wanna run to when I feel scared.

It would be MY HOME.

A place where I would heartily say,” Peace—that was the other name for MY home.”