Creative Writing - Home

A reflection on the concept of HOME

It’s definitely an arduous task to define “home”. I would attempt to say that home is one’s personal territory. The problem with this definition is that it can be much more than a place. The sense of home develops out of several circumstances, which include all kinds of experiences we have through life.
Each one of these experiences leaves a mark which, either good or bad, helps build the concept of home. One of the classical events which can affect the idea of home is migration. People leave the place where they used to live and have to start all over again. Some of them succeed in finding a new home from home. Others never feel comfortable in their host country, which means they can’t help thinking about what they left behind – their own identity and roots. Consequently, feeling at home in a foreign country depends on several factors such as the way this country regards immigrants, the language barrier and also the effort people make to integrate themselves. This way, although some people cannot be really happy far from their homeland, for others home is where they decide to start again.
The real value of home is sometimes hard to define because it is a very subjective concept, which can have all sorts of meanings, according to the person who’s expressing his/her opinion. I would also add that, even so, it can be rather ambiguous as one can feel home in so many different ways depending on the stage of life he/she is experiencing.
Due to its subjectivity and complexity, the concept of home has inspired several authors and songwriters. To give an example, George Moore said that “A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it”. This means that sometimes we are only able to fully understand the important role home plays in our lives when we are far away. Moreover, what we keep on looking for in distant places is often closer than we could imagine. The famous German novelist Hermann Hesse pointed out quite a different perspective on the idea of home. In “Demian” (1919), he said that “One never reaches home, but wherever friendly paths intersect the whole world feels like home for a time”. Hesse seems to regard home as a utopian concept – we can only experience and understand a small part of it. It is an ephemeral feeling – not an everlasting one. A further example is the US playwright J. H. Payne, who wrote a popular song called “Home Sweet Home” (1927). It contains the well-known line “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home”.
When thinking of home, common sense tends to associate it with a cosy place, where we can feel comfortable and safe. Such a place is, most of the times, the first house we live in because it’s where our family and our whole life are. We know that door will always be opened for us to come in and say “Hi! I’m home!”. In fact, the state of a person’s home has been known to psychologically influence their behaviour, emotions and overall mental health. This happens mainly because humans are generally creatures of habit.
As far as I’m concerned, home is much more than that because you can feel at home even in a distant place. Or you can have a place which is really special for you and which you can call home. Someone said that “home is where the heart is…”. Well, our heart can be anywhere in the world… Even in the strangest places…
The whole idea of home is connected with a sense of belonging not only to a place but also to a set of circumstances which we associate with that particular place. These circumstances can be either material or spiritual just like feeling at home can be either physical or emotional.
Taking everything into account, the main question is: What does home mean to you? A place? A person? A feeling? A scent? A song? A still unanswered question?

Photo Essay - Home

Home

It’s definitely an arduous task to define “home”. I would attempt to say that home is one’s personal territory. The problem with this definition is that it can be much more than a place. The sense of home develops out of several circumstances, which include all kinds of experiences we have through life.
The real value of home is sometimes hard to define because it is a very subjective concept, which can have all sorts of meanings, according to the person who’s expressing his/her opinion. I would also add that, even so, it can be rather ambiguous as one can feel home in so many different ways depending on the life stage he/she is passing through.
When thinking of home, the common sense tends to associate it with a cosy place, where we can feel comfortable and safe. Such a place is, most of the times, the first house we live in because it’s where we our family and our whole life are. We know that door will always be opened for us to come in and say “Hi! I’m home!”.
As far as I’m concerned, home is much more than that because you can feel at home even in a distant place. Or you can have a place which is really special for you and which you can call home. Someone said that “home is where the heart is…”. Well, our heart can be anywhere in the world… Even in the strangest places…
The whole idea of home is connected with a sense of belonging not only to a place but also to a set of circumstances which we associate with that particular place. These circumstances can be either material or spiritual just like feeling at home can be either physical or emotional.
Taking everything into account, the main question is: What does home mean to you? A place? A person? A feeling? A scent? A song? A still unanswered question?

Ana Rita Faustino
2007-03-11

HOME

It’s our first home,
Our first touch with love.
It’s somewhere you have to leave,
But it’s the place you want to go back
Every time you feel alone.
Don’t exist safety place like that,
So warm, so calm.
It starts to be our source of life,
And finish as inspiration.

Katharine McPhee - Over the Rainbow (American Idol)

Hakuna Matata - The Lion King

A Terrifying Message from Al Gore - Futurama

Futurama - Wizard of Oz

Colours Of The Wind (Pocahontas) - Vanessa Williams

Home

I cannot see where the see ends and where the sky begins.

This is the infinity, this is my home, my inner side.

I feel safe but I live in the real world.

I have another home: I am surrounded by my family. I feel safe.

I am a citizen of the world, our world.

Dangerous, unsafe…
Anyway, there’s no place like home!

"Death by Scrabble" or "Tile M for Murder" - Charlie Fish

I chose to post this short-story because I found interesting the whole irony that involves it. The husband is desperately trying to find a way to kill his own wife and the end is a bit unexpected. I also found funny the connection between the words they play and what happens next. I hope you enjoy my choice.

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It's a hot day and I hate my wife.

We're playing Scrabble. That's how bad it is. I'm 42 years old, it's a blistering hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble.

I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don't think I've spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning I spoke to the milkman.

My letters are crap.

I play, appropriately, BEGIN. With the N on the little pink star. Twenty-two points.

I watch my wife's smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack, clack, clack. I hate her. If she wasn't around, I'd be doing something interesting right now. I'd be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I'd be starring in the latest Hollywood blockbuster. I'd be sailing the Vendee Globe on a 60-foot clipper called the New Horizons - I don't know, but I'd be doing something.

She plays JINXED, with the J on a double-letter score. 30 points. She's beating me already. Maybe I should kill her.

If only I had a D, then I could play MURDER. That would be a sign. That would be permission.

I start chewing on my U. It's a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed. I play WARMER for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my U.

As I'm picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking - the letters will tell me what to do. If they spell out KILL, or STAB, or her name, or anything, I'll do it right now. I'll finish her off.

My rack spells MIHZPA. Plus the U in my mouth. Damn.

The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window. I can hear buzzing insects outside. I hope they're not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died. I hope that if they are bees, they fly into my wife's throat.

She plays SWEATIER, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 point bonus. If it wasn't too hot to move I would strangle her right now.

I am getting sweatier. It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find a good word. HUMID on a double-word score, using the D of JINXED. The U makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another 22 points. I hope she has lousy letters.

She tells me she has lousy letters. For some reason, I hate her more.

She plays FAN, with the F on a double-letter, and gets up to fill the kettle and turn on the air conditioning.

It's the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This is why I hate my wife. I play ZAPS, with the Z doubled, and she gets a static shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying.

She sits back down with a heavy sigh and starts fiddling with her letters again. Clack clack. Clack clack. I feel a terrible rage build up inside me. Some inner poison slowly spreading through my limbs, and when it gets to my fingertips I am going to jump out of my chair, spilling the Scrabble tiles over the floor, and I am going to start hitting her again and again and again.

The rage gets to my fingertips and passes. My heart is beating. I'm sweating. I think my face actually twitches. Then I sigh, deeply, and sit back into my chair. The kettle starts whistling. As the whistle builds it makes me feel hotter.

She plays READY on a double-word for 18 points, then goes to pour herself a cup of tea. No I do not want one.

I steal a blank tile from the letter bag when she's not looking, and throw back a V from my rack. She gives me a suspicious look. She sits back down with her cup of tea, making a cup-ring on the table, as I play an 8-letter word: CHEATING, using the A of READY. 64 points, including the 50-point bonus, which means I'm beating her now.

She asks me if I cheated.

I really, really hate her.

She plays IGNORE on the triple-word for 21 points. The score is 153 to her, 155 to me.

The steam rising from her cup of tea makes me feel hotter. I try to make murderous words with the letters on my rack, but the best I can do is SLEEP.

My wife sleeps all the time. She slept through an argument our next-door neighbours had that resulted in a broken door, a smashed TV and a Teletubby Lala doll with all the stuffing coming out. And then she bitched at me for being moody the next day from lack of sleep.

If only there was some way for me to get rid of her.

I spot a chance to use all my letters. EXPLODES, using the X of JINXED. 72 points. That'll show her.

As I put the last letter down, there is a deafening bang and the air conditioning unit fails.

My heart is racing, but not from the shock of the bang. I don't believe it - but it can't be a coincidence. The letters made it happen. I played the word EXPLODES, and it happened - the air conditioning unit exploded. And before, I played the word CHEATING when I cheated. And ZAP when my wife got the electric shock. The words are coming true. The letters are choosing their future. The whole game is - JINXED.

My wife plays SIGN, with the N on a triple-letter, for 10 points.

I have to test this.

I have to play something and see if it happens. Something unlikely, to prove that the letters are making it happen. My rack is ABQYFWE. That doesn't leave me with a lot of options. I start frantically chewing on the B.

I play FLY, using the L of EXPLODES. I sit back in my chair and close my eyes, waiting for the sensation of rising up from my chair. Waiting to fly.

Stupid. I open my eyes, and there's a fly. An insect, buzzing around above the Scrabble board, surfing the thermals from the tepid cup of tea. That proves nothing. The fly could have been there anyway.

I need to play something unambiguous. Something that cannot be misinterpreted. Something absolute and final. Something terminal. Something murderous.

My wife plays CAUTION, using a blank tile for the N. 18 points.

My rack is AQWEUK, plus the B in my mouth. I am awed by the power of the letters, and frustrated that I cannot wield it. Maybe I should cheat again, and pick out the letters I need to spell SLASH or SLAY.

Then it hits me. The perfect word. A powerful, dangerous, terrible word.

I play QUAKE for 19 points.

I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding fate. I am manipulating destiny.

My wife plays DEATH for 34 points, just as the room starts to shake. I gasp with surprise and vindication - and the B that I was chewing on gets lodged in my throat. I try to cough. My face goes red, then blue. My throat swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck. The earthquake builds to a climax.

I fall to the floor. My wife just sits there, watching.

www.short-stories.co.uk

Home...

For me home is wherever the people I most love are. These two girls in the photo with me are Cátia and Sónia. They are definitively my best friends so I chose them to represent all the people I love. In my opinion, home isn’t just a place; it’s a sensation of being important to someone else and feeling safe, because you know that your friends and family will always be there for you. I just can’t imagine my life without them, especially these two girls in the photo and my little brother Rúben. They give me strength to go on despite all the complications.