…the almost right word

I still call the San Fernando Valley “Home.” It’s been nearly ten years since I last lived there for any period of time longer than three months. Specifically, my room at my father’s house is the “home” I am referencing. Its walls are still covered with a collage of high school photographs. Now don’t get me wrong, I was never the type to like high school. I may have appeared social and comfortable, a happy teenager. But I was angsty, just like most teenagers. And I hated high school, just like most teenagers. Nevertheless, I always have that nostalgic ability to look backwards and smile. So the pictures have stayed on the walls there. In fact, they’re right beside the tons of books that I left behind – I’ll get them some other time, I always tell myself. When will I stop considering my room at my father’s house to be “home?”

The theme for the month is “home,” thus this post. There’ll be more musings on “home” to come. For now, however, a quote from the latest a.r.w. read…

“I’d like to stay here by myself,” she said, “rent a room on one of these islands and just write.” I told her she should, but she shook her head. “I wouldn’t last a week,” she said. “I’m not good at being alone. But you, on the other hand,” and here she tilted her head and crossed her arms, “I think you’d be fine.”

I have never, to the best of my knowledge, had any fear of solitude, and so I shrugged in assent and said, by way of explanation, “When I was a child, there were eight of us, eight cousins, all in the same compound — a single boundary wall surrounded the plot of land my grandfather left to his sons, you see — and we had between us as many as three dogs and, for a time, a duck.” She laughed, and then said, “So being alone was a luxury, huh?” I nodded. “You give off this strong sense of home,” she said……”It’s nice. It makes you feel solid.” I was pleased — even though I was not sure I fully understood — and said thank you for want of anything better to say. Then, hesitantly because I did not wish to be too forward, I asked, “And you, do you feel solid?”

She considered this and said, with what I thought was a trace of sadness in her voice, “Sometimes, but no, not really.”

–The Reluctant Fundamentalist, Moshin Hamid