Assignment 2.2:
Write a short story (600 – 1000 words) that describes your sense of home; write about the values and the stories that you use to connect yourself to, and to identify your sense of home.
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“Excuse me, may I sit here”
I turned from an enthralling game of Candy Crush to a shaggy form with his dirty hands hauling a transparent plastic bag stuffed full of cans and juice boxes. I didn’t bother looking at his face; I shrugged as I moved my bag between my legs on, doing so ever so passive aggressively to challenge why he must sit here of all places when there are so many seats on this bus.
“Where are you going?”
“Home” I muttered. I was eyeing longingly for some other seats on the bus.
“And where’s that?”
Are we really going to do this? “Richmond” I said calmly. Who is this creep?
“Well yes, that is where you live, in the sense that you go there every night to shower, eat, sleep, eat again, and head out the door. But where is home?”
I guess Dvorak’s New World Symphony will have to wait. I removed my headphones and looked up. A man of about fifty years of age with a pair of worn but gentle brown eyes met my gaze. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I mean you have a place that you go back to daily, but it is just a recharging station, no? You fill up, you get cleaned up, and you get back on the road again. It’s all very mechanical. What makes that place your home?”
“That’s where my family is, and that’s where I invite friends over to play video games and watch movies.” I paused and thought before I continued. “It’s a place of comfort, a place that shields me from the insecurity of the world.”
“Very interesting and insightful.” He exclaimed, with a hint of irony bubbling underneath the surface of his tone. “Now couldn’t you have done all that in a hotel room? In fact I bet you they have plushier rooms and sofas.”
“For one thing it’s all free at home.” I chuckled. “And also I know my home well, there are no surprises because everything is familiar to me.”
“Oh really,” he challenged. “Now tell me, do you have a carpet in your living room?”
“Yes, a rug my mom bought at Ikea.”
“What colour is it?”
Beige? Peach? Wait, no, there are designs on it. But what’s the colour of the details? “I don’t know, something mild and bland I think. I didn’t buy it.”
“That’s fair that you don’t know. It’s not as though you spend time there.” But I do, every day in fact. He quizzed me again. “What colour are the curtains of the master bedroom?”
Do my parents even have curtains in their room? “I’m sorry, I really don’t know. I’m not a very visual person and that’s not a part of the house I frequent.”
“Ah, I see, so there are places and aspects of the house that are not familiar to you.”
“Well duh, isn’t it only the parts of our house that matter to us that should count?”
“And there are other places in your life that do count.” He declared. “Like UBC. I bet that since you’re going home at such a late hour, you must spend at least half your day there.”
“Yes I do, in fact I was here since 8am”
“And you know where all the buildings are, and how the classrooms look. Heck, with your long daily commute, you probably know this bus better than your house. “ He spoke excitedly. “You know the configuration of all the seats and their colour. You know which seats are your favourites. You know whom to stand beside when the bus is full because you know who’s always going to get off before Cambie. It sounds like you probably know these places better. It sounds like home to me!”
“Hmm.” I uttered unconsciously. I had nothing to offer.
“But of course, it isn’t.” He sighed.
“So,” I began hesitantly. “Where’s home for you?”
He stared straight ahead, searching in his mind for a couple seconds before turning suddenly to me, eyes aglow with confidence. “You know, the Polynesians were the best navigators of the sea in the ancient world. They braved thousands of kilometers across the barren stretches of the southern Pacific ocean to reach far flung islands by studying the stars, the wave patterns, the seasonal winds, the ocean currents, and even the migratory bird formations. They settled in the Solomon Islands; Samoa; Tahiti; Hawaii; Easter Island. There was not a speck of land in that ocean that was beyond their reach. And you know why? When they travelled they always considered themselves as the centre, and their destination would always move towards them. The world was not a static place to them. That is why they have no words for directions like north and south, because they don’t leave a place; it moves away from them, and a new place moves to them. Speaking of destination, my destination has arrived.” He heaved his bag on his shoulder and made his way to the door.
“Wait, what’s your name?” I inquired.
He smiled at me softly, his wrinkled face erupting into a coy expression. “Why does it matter? I have no name. I know who I am, and therefore, I have a home.
Works Cited:
“Introduction.” Never Lost: Polynesian Navigation. Exploratorium, n.p. n.d. Web. 5 June 2015. <https://www.exploratorium.edu/neverlost/#/home>
Libera Official. “Going Home.” Online video clip. Youtube. Youtube, 14 Jan 2015. Web. 5 June 2015. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvThHk-wMRk>
🙂