Day 21

18192657_10211260551964082_8556969041968162139_o.jpgI haven’t forgotten! I swear! Just been in the throes of moving out of my dear Banjara Cottage, my sanctuary for the last three years. Normally I’m really blasé about moving; since college began and I first moved away from home, I’ve given that title to eight different addresses. After all of those moves, as you can imagine, the concept of home starts to seem malleable and after aboutthe third move, I gave up on the idea of “settling” in anywhere, preempting the obvious next move. It wasn’t until late 2014, when I found this little spot, overlooking this backyard overgrowth of a garden, and became determined to fully make it my home and commit to life within its walls for at least two years, that I discovered the joy of my “home”, my personal space away from home. Home will always be where my mama is; despite how much my style has changed, how grown up I feel, how my own space evolves, the feeling of home is deeply tied to my parents. Banjara Cottage was the closest second – after traveling anywhere in the world, cooking myself some pasta with fresh tomato sauce, washing up some berries and finishing with a nice cuppa tea became my ultimate grounding ritual. Listening to qawalli or Kirtan every morning before work seemed to sanctify the space and make me feel more rooted. The idea of moving seemed foreign but inevitable. And now that it’s happening, it’s freaking me out how emotionally attached I’ve gotten. For the first time ever (in 7 moves) I took pictures of every room in the house to remember this space. I spent the most time in this little room, working, facetiming, writing, dreaming and relaxing. So last night, I lit a candle and thanked the space for comforting me and nurturing me for the past 3 years. It probably looked pretty hippie but it felt like the best ways to honor the closest thing I’ve had to my own home.

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