A home. When people refer to "their home" most are talking about where they are physically living. Where they keep their belongings and go to sleep. Somewhere they sit and think and dream and go for a place of comfort. Maybe where their parents live or where they claim that they are from. My idea of what a home is defined to be is a little different. Some may agree, and many probably won't. I know this. But my true home is not where I live. It is not where I go to sleep. It is not where I keep my belongings. It is quite simply,
where I am supposed to be. Somewhere I can close my eyes and go to in my mind after a long day. This home of mine is my escape from the world and I am at peace. This home is a good home, a happy home, a home where I can do anything I set my mind to. My home is busy streets. Smoggy city air. People of every nation wandering the streets. My home is hailing cabs in the rain and standing on a small subway platform. My home is not what people would normally generalize as a home but it makes me happy. It assures me that all the work I am doing, everything obstacle that I encounter, and everything I have and will achieve in order to accomplish my goals and my dreams, will one day actually take me to my home.
The place where I am supposed to be. The place where I belong.
