Three Places: Compare & Contrast

Of all the places I've been (which really isn't too many) I have one spot where I am comfortable, happy and feel safe, which is my ambiguous definition of home. That spot is my room, in my current house. As simple as a room seems, it's still that special place for me. When I lived with my mom, for the first thirteen years of my life, we were constantly moving. I never really hung things on my walls, or found spots to hide the snacks I didn't want anyone else to find because I knew that these would not last long. When I moved in with my dad the only thing that would force us to move was his jobs, but each one lasted at least one year and usually longer, so this was just about as permanent as I knew. This was incredible.

The first apartment we lived in, though we lived in it for more than a year, still didn't feel like I could depend on it or come to trust it. We had moved so much that my subconscious sought to protect me from being tricked, so I could not feel like it was permanent. But when my dad moved jobs, and we had to get a new apartment on the other side of town I felt a transition. This move was fun, not pained.

My dad took me to Baileys furniture store and told me to pick a bed and a room set. This was step one of the forceful push kick of permanence to my subconscious. When we got to the house, of course he got the bigger room, but still I had a bed that was mine and it went in a room that was mine. I have been in this room and this house for three years and it is home. My walls are covered in the most eclectic collection of drawings (artistically done in crayon), random hair accessories and all kinds of different things I had managed to hold on to between the many moves. For me this is my chosen place as well as what I consider home.

Compared to the little spot on the hill we decided to look from it made me think of the duality of my "home." People say how incredible Alaska is and in a way (my way being a little more cynical) it kind of is. In this spot on the hill it was really comical to look onto this absolutely beautiful sky, the snow (which some people have never even seen) and the vast landscape of trees. All inherently beautiful. Then... there are the cars, the gravel, the strategically placed wooden poles and the giant clouds of smoke being pushed into the air. All these things not so beautiful... more like not at all. This duality is much like my spot, my home. While the spot on the hill presented duality in visual aspects, my spot as emotional duality.

While I feel most comfortable in my room, my spot it also carries with it memories of some of the worst emotional pain I've ever gone through. With all the different houses I moved out of, as I left them I left any awful memories I had there (almost quite literally because I don't remember much about them) which gave me a clean slate. But here in my beloved spot there is a very colorful slate. I fell in love with the first love here, and felt the ripping of my chest when it ended, all in this room where I'm sitting as I write this. I felt the pain of finding out a very close family member has cancer as well as the pain of finding out that someone I really loved had passed away. Here in this room. Much like the spot on the hill there is duality, even if they are through different means, of two conflicting extremes. Yet they differ because one is vital to my daily life and one is just another place.

In the wood center, this reminded me a little more of my room. I was more comfortable here. Yet again it couldn't stand up. As I was surrounded by people, I did not feel as good as I do in my little haven. Maybe it had a higher level of permanence, in my slightly warped perception of permanence mind you, than the little spot on the hill had?

While I have thoroughly explained my current sense of home, as it conveniently doubled as my spot (because it truly inspires me), for me the concept of home is where I can feel some sort of permanence, but more in depth somewhere I feel that I should and want to remember.