THE MOOD EDITION 027

SUNDAY

A home. A holiday. A hell.

Three words, different meaning. Yet, I can’t help but wonder, are they so different?

Home; the place where one lives permanently, a space, a building, bricks and stones, a rooftop, a forever or a holiday home, place where you feel safe and secured, a home away from home, an area, a city, a country.

Holiday; a getaway, a travel, an extended period of leisure and recreation, away from home, a day off, a day, a week, a month, a year when no work is done.

Hell; a situation, experience or place of great suffering, torture, a misery, a place regarded in various religions as a spiritual realm of evil and suffering, a place of perpetual fire, a punishment, the inferno.

Early in life I’ve realised that home is not just a place. In fact, it’s never about the actual building. It’s about the feelings. The feelings of safety, love, caring and security, our comfort zone and our safe haven. If home is the place where we always return to and our final destination, maybe, just maybe, a home can be a person. If holiday is an extended period of leisure and recreation that we all want to and work hard to have, then why are we so relieved every time we are back home? And if hell is an experience of suffering, why do we need it so much in our lives? It’s obvious. To enjoy the holiday and to appreciate the home.

I’m not sure if any of these make any sense whatsoever, but think about it. Some people are the fire. They can burn you in the split of a second, they can destroy you in any possible way, they can make into your life and turn it into hell. Sometimes hell feels good though and unfortunately every single time hell comes into you life, it leaves you in a million pieces, but always with a lesson. Hell teaches you stuff. Some people are holiday. They come into your life in a very easygoing way, they give you great memories, fun times, insta-worthy pictures and then they leave. They are going over to the next one to give them a break, to give them a holiday. And then there are people who feel like home. They are home. Some remarkable, special people. People that you can be perfectly you with them. People that you feel safe and secure with them. People that you can run back to after you suffered through hell. People that you return to after a holiday. People that remind you that all this hell, and all those holidays, where worth the ride after all.

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