Stranger at home

The home stood there, cold, speechless. Back in the day, he remembered the house beckoned him to come in. He had known the place like the back of his hand. But today, on the day he had returned from a long voyage, and was in preparation for another, the house seemed alien to him. It felt, distant. As if, it wasn’t the house he used to know.

He opened the doors, as he did all those times in the past. Only, this time, the doors seemed to push back against his hands. It was pushing against the intruder. The house didn’t recognize him. He was a stranger at his own home. Or, at least, the place he used to call home.

He didn’t belong here anymore. He was destined to leave the nest. And the house knew this. It had seen the boy grow into a man within its walls, and had seen him set off for a new, wider, bigger world, in search of bigger things. Something this small town could not offer him — not anymore. When the boy was young, he knew nothing. He needed the protection of the house. But the boy kept pushing back, pushing the boundaries, until they stretched passed their limits, tearing under the sheer pressure.

The boy was no longer in need of the house’s protection. And it knew this. He was ambitious. And he was curious. These were the makings of a man destined for something great. Or a man on the brink of destruction. There was no indication as to which destiny awaited the boy, but one thing was for certain — the boundaries of the house were no longer big enough for the boy to spread his wings and face his fate. It was time for him to move out.

And so he did. Without looking back. He would visit ever now and then, in between bouts of his adventure, when he needed the respite his family provided. But he never stayed long. He was always on the move — never staying put in one area for too long. Like a 21st century nomad, having no real home. The house acted as his home — a place he could crawl back to in times of defeat — during these times. And it knew its role very well. And it welcomed its roll. But this time, the boy had a different aura about him.

He was home, yes, but whereas before, his returns were marked by an air of defeat, this time he was confident. He was sure of himself, perhaps for the first time in his short life. The house quickly realized its role as the boy’s protector — as his home — was over. The boy no longer needed the house. He was far stronger, far more mature, than he had ever been. He was ready to face his fate head on, by the virtue of his own strength.

The house pushed back against the boy. It didn’t like the dynamics of this new relationship. It wanted to deny the truth of the matter. And the boy felt it. He didn’t feel welcomed like before. He knew this was no longer his home. It was the home of his parents. And he was just visiting. He was a stranger at home. Or, the place he used to call home.

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