I have a house that I call my home. I feel calm there. I feel safe there. I feel welcome, like I belong. I feel more comfortable in my home than I feel everywhere else. It’s as if the atmosphere in my home is different than the rest of the world. My home has its own micro-climate.
My home has no smell. Its water is tasteful by being tasteless. Everything feels so normal at home. Even the vibrant aroma from the kitchen is just a background. That hot chocolate simmering on the stove is so familiar that I almost forget it’s there.
Sometimes, that house no longer feels like home. Sometimes, a new person, a new animal, or a new couch comes on in. The house gains a stench, and it ceases to be my home. And for a time I am homeless, trapped in my own half-familiar house. I am uncomfortable. Homes are destroyed in a flash, yet they are slothfully made.
Not every house is a home, and not every home is a house. The house that you live in can feel hot. In contrast, the streets of the city feel cold. But maybe your friend’s apartment is warm. Perhaps the grove by the river is always cool. Anywhere has the potential to feel harsh, and likewise, anywhere has the potential to be mild.
Mild foods are soft on the tongue, and they are comfortable. Sure, habanero is exciting and adventurous, but it also is painful. Spice is uncomfortable. However, you can get used to that spice- that habanero. It will never truly taste mild, but it may come close enough that you feel comfortable.
Only when you feel comfortable can the smells begin to recede. When I leave home for more than a week, I feel uncomfortable, and I miss that neutral tone on the nose. All the foreign foods, the air freshener, the detergent, the trash, and the dust. It’s all just wrong. Everything feels wrong. But if I go to my grandma’s house, then it all smells so similar. It’s comfortable there. My grandma’s house is nearly home.
This house is definitely my home. It’s not exciting, but it’s calming. A home is cozy, and a home is odorless.
