NaBloPoMo Writing Prompt:

When was the first time you realized your home wasn’t like other people’s homes?

To me, home has many meanings: structure, design, functionality, people, and energy.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my home, mostly fantasizing. I love home magazines: Elle Decor, House Beautiful, Martha Stewart, etc. It’s like you peek into these worlds and imagine what your life would be like–in a loft in Dumbo, or a country cottage in the south of France. Everything seems so relaxing, right? So perfect, so carefree.

I think my existence in a small cozy apartment in Brooklyn isn’t unlike many others in New York. You make compromises: cute, vibrant neighborhood over space.

But I don’t think I’ve ever had a real sense of home in my adult life until I moved in with Dave. Every other apartment, no matter how nice I tried to make it, was ultimately just a place to put my stuff and always felt temporary. I used to always be on the go. I hardly ever had a proper dinner, unless I was out with friends specifically for that purpose. I’ve never spent so much time in my home as I do now. Dave and I cook meals together, eat at the dinner table, lounge on the weekend with a paper copy of the NY Times, make up songs (well, Dave makes up songs), and laugh.

I am sure our apartment is not on the list to be photographed by Elle Decor, but I can see for the first time that no matter where we may be, we will create a home. So this might not exactly answer the writing prompt, but it is a realization that my home isn’t like my other homes.

See also: the challenge.

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