| sandra
chong
It's funny, we call it 'home', but when you've found
your place elsewhere, nowhere else can possibly be your home.
We had been out of home for a year, enjoying the peace
and the freedom. On hot summer days, I played videogames in my undies,
feet in a bucket of cold water and hairy legs enjoying the warmth. But
the house was soon sold and we prepared for another era of life - living
at home again.
It was early spring when we moved in, and the heavy
rain couldn't be a more accurate foreshadow. The fun and lively woman
I knew would soon become overbearing and obnoxious. The sweet little brother
would soon become a cocky bastard as he entered his testosterone years.
And the commuting father would finish his work in the mines, move back
in and spend many afternoons falling asleep on the couch.
The hot summer days came around again, but there were
no videogames when every television was being used. No undies and cold
water with so many boys in the house. At least I still got away with having
hairy legs.
Although there was a roof over my head, flushing toilets
and as many square meals as I could want, I spent the year homeless. Just
goes to show that it doesn't really matter where you hang your hat, because
home can only ever be where your heart is.
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poetry by lindsay zier-vogel
musings on home with sandra chong
summer temptatioin with rhya tamasauskas
music's role in the fight against oppression


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