Most people love not only their country but also the town, village and the hamlet they grew up in and the people, food and the songs they grew up with. Why is this? As a child, I long cherished the simplicity and heterogeneous society in which all people live together in harmony and happiness. The more I grew up the more I discovered that my village was too small to satisfy my growing hunger for life and to answer the few tough questions residing in my mind. Gradually, life became hostile. My inclination to leave the village grew fonder.
When I earned my baccalaureate degree, I couldn’t wait to leave the village where I was born. Early in September, I packed up my staff and bid farewell to my motherland and to everyone there. I went to Meknes in order to pursue my studies. As luck would have it, I instantly met and befriended nice people. I loved the new city, my new homeland; I may say. But when we leave home and end up in a foreign, though soothing environment, how soon we remember home. In fact, we realize the importance of our homes and recognize their value only when we are far away from them. In such moments, a subtle feeling of instinctive tenderness towards our home suddenly kindles. It is homesickness.
In a philosophical sense, home is but a conventional term, meaning more than a four corner space. Home is more about the feeling than the building and places where we grew-up, work or live. Some say: “Home is where the Mom is”. To a certain extent, it is true. But what is mom? Is she the biological person who gave birth to you? Is she the person who raised you up and taught you every single tip that made you an independent man or woman? Or is she that person who embraces you in your weary times and sweeps away all the worries and tears. Maybe it is more than that.
While reading The Death of the Hired Man, a long poem by Robert Frost, I came across an inspiring couplet. It runs, “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.’’ In this sense home is every place where we feel welcome. A place where we are wanted, valued and loved. But what if we don’t really love that place, or simply we share no history, no memories and language with those people? Could this be still regarded as home? Home, I guess, is broader than words can express.
Home, I think, is the place towards which one feels a mutual love. A place one fondly remembers, hopes to live in and even dies for. Home, regardless where it is located, up the hill, amidst the woods, in the desert, near the sea or on the snow remains one’s haven. This strong devotion and attachment with home is what makes people come back home whenever time allows. They feel happy to travel thousands of miles for the sake of being back home even though their homes are in barren and wild places. They are ready to sacrifice all that they have in order to support and stand by their homes.
Morocco World News
Taroudant, Morocco, February 5, 2012
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