That was the first time I had left Bangladesh behind, not quite realising that the feeling of loss I was experiencing was, in fact, homesickness, for a place I wasn’t born to, for a language I have now lost fluency in, and a family I could not grow up with.
Browsing: home
When I’m cooking dinner, I’ll hop outside to trim some leaves off my plants, taking care not to thin out the foliage too much, taking from the top, not the bottom. Rinse your herbs well before consuming them. Savour their flavour. The love I cook into my dishes tastes like home-grown basil.
I am grateful that you never throw anything out. If you will not tell me about your life, I will at least be able to piece it together through your belongings.
The evolution of changing built realities is not just related to what the structure of a home will look like, but also what it would feel like to reside in it.
I feel a sense of shame associated with admitting how disorganised my room is. When I have people over, I apologise for the state of my room reflexively, even when I’ve spent ages cleaning it. I’m not so sure, however, that messiness is the flaw we treat it as. I think messy rooms are worth defending.
My place, despite its failures, is still a place of love, reflection and, dare I say it, beauty.
The road to settling into a new city is bumpy, with many mistakes made along the way.
On quiet domesticity.
Musings on the racially in-between.
A poem about discovering home
