By Western standards, the house in which I spent most of my childhood in would be considered appalling. Situated in a squatter’s settlement in the midst of the sprawling city, it wasn’t much bigger than the combined closets of some households. For so many years, we didn’t have running water; we had to get water from the next neighbourhood, so my mom would put me in a cart with a few plastic water containers, and off we would go. All of this water would go in a metal tank in the back of the house, which was connected to the faucets and would give us the impression of having water on tap–at least, until it all ran out.
There were no phone lines, either. Occasionally, my dad had a cellphone, but the use of this was limited as well. We had a tiny yard with some banana plants for a year or so, but then my parents decided to expand the house and it went away. I played out on the street or in the parking lot next to our neighbourhood (which we all called “the Park”), whenever I was allowed. Often, I wasn’t, so I stayed at home and watched anime or wrote on my computer.
Despite all of this, I was happy. I had my dogs, and I had my writing, and I had my dreams. I would spend hours scribbling out my ‘dream house’, which would have, among other things, space for a German Shepherd, rooms for everyone, maybe halls so you didn’t trip everywhere, and a gorgeous yard. It had to fit everybody I loved–my cousins, dogs, parents, aunts, and uncles.
Then we moved to Canada and I realized I didn’t care about all of that; I missed that life and that house more than anything else in the world. Even though in Canada, we had running and heated water, and (eventually) our own apartment in an okay (in other words, not slum-like) neighbourhood, I missed our home. It took a long time–and two visits back, one which lasted over six months–for me to accept that those years are long gone, and to learn to embrace where I am as ‘home’ at last.
Still, it is good to walk down memory lane once in a while. Also, it is humbling to remember that we used to chase stray cats for dinner (and no, it’s not how it sounds…those damn thieves know how to grab takeout plastic bags and the bastards are everywhere)…
