Leaving home for home

I’ve been whining in mute. Hence, not many would have guessed my gripes. Not friends, not family, perhaps, only perhaps, a hunch from Hazel.

You see, prior to our CNY trip to Seremban, home wasn’t a word I’d use to describe Hong Kong – much as I liked the city. And we were miles from hometown Seremban.

My constant gripe was: “I’m a freakin nomad. I have no home. Grumble, mumble, pumble…”

Then CNY came and we headed back. I felt at home – the road in front of my house which I’d been using for the past 25 years, the sound of my neighbour opening the door at 6 am, all that jazz. There was that unmistakable “ah” feeling.

Then, somewhere in the middle of our CNY holiday, I missed HK. The ferry commute, Tsing Ma bridge outside my window, the sound of the sea at Central Piers with Kowloon as the backdrop… “Make up your mind la,” I scolded me.

Needless to say, we had a fabulous CNY at home. Funnily, the night we got back to Park Island, there again was that bliss of arriving home. The same bliss I had when we reached Seremban Garden.

So I thank God. There are now two places where I can feel at home. There will be those who say there’s no such thing. I say there are no rules for the way you feel. I have two homes and I likes it. It’s not the “Home away from home” thingy. It’s a little different – it’s hard to the difference so I won’t. Don’t lose any sleep over it.