For everyone else, it is the American Dream. For me, it's the most coziest thing.
Mama and Baba could never own a home. It was one of Mama's biggest grudges against Baba; mustakil mazaaj nahin hain tumhaara baap. Gypsy k tarah hai.
That wasn't entirely true. From 1990-2003, Baba Mama were undocumented in the US, and the thought of all the paperwork and steps that go into homebuying was daunting. Don't ask me why he didn't buy a house in Lahore; I don't know. He built houses for a living, but never settled in one.
And here I am, and I own my own home. This is a big step in itself for everyone, I'm sure. But it is monumental for me.
I stepped into this house blind on Open House Day, not knowing what I'll see, raging with IVF medications coursing through me. Every corner felt like I had come back to where I belonged. The arched doorways and opening between the kitchen and the living space; the soft golden hour light through the wrinkled linen curtains in my bedroom that beckon me when I come home from work. The Juliet balcony overlooking the contained foyer with original 3/4 inch hardwood from 2002. The garden escape of a backyard that is fully finished, with hummingbirds greeting us every morning in the summer. Morning light through the large front window is a treat to see on the weekend days. And I can't wait to roll up my sleeves and build our little breakfast nook.
This house is not a mansion. It is not an award winner. It is not in the most wealthy suburb. But it is, with every definition, a true extension of me. It is cozy, and filled with softness, and warmth, and light.
The acupuncturist moved from one building to another, and the room was much smaller. I said I like this better. She replied "That makes sense. Smaller rooms contain Qi. Big rooms scatter the Qi."
