Monday, November 24


As I get older, I've come to realize that there are more and more forms that I have to fill out as I enter adulthood. There's also nothing wrong with that, as it is usually formality, and everything is pretty honest and exact. One necessity I can't over, as of recently, is the line on a form that asks for your home address. I'm pretty sure I'm overly philosophical and analytic on this one, but it makes for a good blog. Oxford Dictionaries defines home as, "The place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household." One day, I may formally write them a letter for the sole purpose of telling them that home is misdefined; I totally made up the word misdefined, so they can add that too. To me, no two persons have the same home. If I were Oxford, I would simply, and vaguely, define home as a safe haven. That way, they won't be wrong by any means. Homes are not broken as people describe them, they are achieve. Your geographical positioning doesn't always determine your home. Home isn't Ferguson, where you feel safest playing your race card. It doesn't have to be you against the world or the world against you. You're there when the world and you coexist. The world in you and you in the world is home. Home isn't your apartment of residence during transient milestones and career paths. Home isn't where the heart is; it's where the heart dwells. It may not even be where you sleep at night in your lover's arms. I've tried all of these thing and couldn't put down my "home address" as any of these. What does a form know about my home? In fact, I can't fit it all on lines with address, city and state with a zip code. Next time they ask me for my home address, I'll politely throw this verbose blog in there. Home is where you feel safest. It may be with a person or persons, or it may be without people with your guiltiest pleasure. Home can be where you sleep at night in lover's arms or your residence in all. Home is rarer than happiness now-a-days, as the two may be synonymous. I couldn't say where or what your home is or what mine is. I'm still looking for home. It maybe at the bottom of fine red wine or the sweetest feat. It may so be that I spend my whole life in search of home, not a house. You can inhabit all the houses and the world and not find anything remotely close to what is considered a safe haven. If you feel at home, most likely, you are at home, and the home you commonly refer to isn't home at all.  So, to all your forms out there, keep the phone number, age, date of birth, given name and social security number on there. Albeit, take off the home address requirement, because I couldn't and wouldn't be honest or exact with the amount of lines provided. Find your home and stay there, away from insecurities and oppression. Return there once and awhile, get acquainted and accustomed to staying there. That's all we can ever do. If you're an employee of Oxford and you're reading this, please change the definition. It's not working for me and probably 99% of the world.