What is a home? Here is a question that has been nagging me for the past two days since my friend asked it to me.

Truth be told, I haven’t the faintest idea on how to go about defining a home. Is it the place you live? The place you grew up in? The place you eat and sleep comfortably? Or is the place where your loved ones are?

To me, home is a place where you have utmost comfort. I don’t mean plush mattresses and butlers, but a place, any place, where you are yourself. A place where you don’t think twice before doing something, saying something or being a certain way. Home is where you can find yourself because you can drop all pretenses, pull down all the walls because you aren’t afraid. Home is where you feel safe enough to be raw. Forget what is expected of you and what you ought to be.

Home has nothing to do with any physical space. Be it where you grew up or broke down. Be it your own house or someone else’s. Be it a house at all or just a spot you like to visit. Home is where you are you. 


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