Random thoughts of a young woman
PM00000020000004530 15: 2012 § 4 Comments
And then, one day, suddenly it happens that you start feeling that you need to build your own home, find your place, take your time.
I’m 25 years old. I come from Italy but I live in London.
I have three homes but no one is mine.
Asteys Row. My parent’s house. And my boyfriend’s roof.
Different places for different lives, different homes for different memories.
The feeling that every bed where you sleep is not yours for real.
The impression to belong to something which doesn’t belong to you anymore.
And then the impetus to cross the street, looking for your own way home.
home :: a crossing lines blog 
‘Belong’ is a very interesting word:
1. (of a thing) Be rightly placed in a specified position: “learning to place the blame where it belongs”.
2. Be rightly classified in or assigned to a specified category.
How long must you be somewhere before you be-long?
Here in Italy on holiday the room I have stayed in many times cannot be home as it is not ‘realistically mine’. As I do not own it. My husband pays to ‘rent’ the room out of his salary so I do not own the space i exist in whilst I’m here.
In England is my home really MY home as I have never paid for it; I do not own the space. I am allowed to be there at the ‘say-so’ or permission of another.
If we accept home as a right of ownership then I do not have a home as the spaces I exist in are borrowed from another.
I think Bachelard says that only children have homes….
Or maybe, it is not just a question of ownership, feeling at home.
I think it is more likely a state of a mind. Come back home and feeling in peace when you realize that the door you open is the right one not just because you’ve got the right keys to get in.