Not a House, But a Home Some walls shelter us. Others raise us. Growing up, I never really knew what a permanent house felt like. Since I was born, we’ve lived in rented homes. I’ve lost count now, but we’ve changed houses at least ten times. So for me, it was never just one roof that sheltered me—there were many. Many houses know my story. Many walls have heard my quiet cries. Many floors have felt the weight of my frustration. Many windows have caught my random smiles. Many doors have seen me laugh like nothing's wrong. And no, it’s not just those three steps outside that saw me fall—there are many. I never had that one corner people talk about—their childhood, the place they run to when life feels heavy. Because every time I found mine, we moved. New house. New neighborhood. New adjustments. And it always took me at least four months to sleep properly… to feel like, “Okay, maybe this is home now.” But deep down, it never was. It was just a house—not my home. Then someone a...
Hello ! To the world by my word , There’s one thing I’ll never understand about life… How can someone who was once our everything just leave? Someone we played with. Laughed with. Fought with. Dreamed with. Someone who understood our silences better than our words. We had plans. Inside jokes. Complaints about the world. A list of things we wanted to do together. We had time—or at least, we thought we did. And then, one day, they were just… gone. No warning. No letter. No goodbye. They left quietly, like a whisper. And we’re left screaming inside a silence that no one else can hear. I still remember the little things they taught me—how to boil an egg, how to fold laundry, how to ride a cycle, how to fight for what I believe in. But the one thing they never taught me was how to live without them. To whom will I run when I’m sick now? Who will hold my face and say, “You’ll be fine, don’t worry”? To whom will I cry when someone scolds me, or when life feels unfair? ...