Home is where the heart is...

I may not have everyone’s definition of “no place like home”, but I sure know what it means to me. Hubby’s been holding a professional training at a renowned venue here in Boksburg, very close to the O R Tambo International airport. The training is finally concluded and delegates are almost on board back home. Whenever the training takes place like this, he asks that I and the kids join him for the last two (three this time) days, which usually falls on a weekend. So here we are again, but all I want to do now is - GO BACK HOME. I can’t really say why really, but I think I’ve been missing home as soon as I spent the first night here. Perhaps, it may also be because hubby has not been present besides just coming to bed late at night. It also happens to fall in the month of Ramadan and everyone’s fasting except me. Yes, am sure that’s another reason I’ve been homesick. I’ve had to go for breakfast alone and dinner has been more of improvising. It is more homely than any other hotel we’ve stayed because I could cook if I wanted to. The kitchen is usually the place I miss most when we leave home. The beds may not be as comfortable because of the size (we sleep on a six-by-six sized bed). But I could always comfort myself knowing I would soon be back home. Now the kitchen is usually “out of bounds” since I wouldn’t be cooking for myself. Actually, that seems odd because, am supposed to really enjoy taking a break from my primary duty for a change; considering cooking isn’t my favourite chore or hobby. I could clean anytime and everytime, but I can’t say the same about cooking. I don’t feel like cooking everytime. But here’s the thing, after eating these continental dishes for two days, I start missing home cooked meal by moi. And you know, it’s more of a cultural thing. I get the privilege of having the meals I can’t get a recipe or cook book to prepare because I do not miss those dishes that much. But it doesn’t take long before I start missing my traditional and regular dishes-my own way! So the summary is that, I just want to go home-simple! It doesn’t matter to me that I love the serenity, that everything is clean and well organized (I can be annoyingly meticulous and naturally like things well arranged-but my family members don’t make that happen). And overall, the place looks far better than my home. But “home” is not a place but a “feeling”. So the exteriors would not really matter when you refer to somewhere as your home. It could be a caravan, a hut, even a camp tent or anywhere else. The feeling you get when you are in that comfort zone, is the reason you call it home. I want to be back in my own space, do my own thing without having to answer to “house keeping” , or leave the room for breakfast when I actually don’t feel up to it; but can’t help it because am simply starved. What did they say about human needs being insatiable? Yes, that’s just it- it is human nature to feel the way I do. So am just counting down to an hour more tops, hoping hubby would be back and we can just head home.