Home is where your happiness lies

I love the place where I lived 15 years of my life.

I enjoyed the freedom that was boundlessly bestowed upon me by my family who thought that children are like sunflowers -- they just need food and they'll grow on their own, towards the sun.

Friendships that taught me that people and their priorities change with the promising degrees and jobs, places and lovers. Those that dont change are but the sweet memories of the passionate days when we all were ready to die for each other, took others' worries as ours, and happinesses too..

The Church near my house, huge and serene (somehow giving me an image of God), where I used to pay a visit every time I wanted to relieve the load on my frustrated mind and to make myself to forgive the causes for it (I guess, why these visits were too frequent is obvious and goes without saying)
The fortnightly confessions at church, of every remote thought or action that could possibly erase my name from of the big book that St. Peter holds at the golden gate of heaven.
My Bible, an old King James' version, that I held close to me.., that I read every time when I needed advice; that I used to hug for solace, as though it was the big old man Himself.
I kind of got out of the habit when I grew big enough to ask such questions that the Bible refused to answer. To learn them the hard way was, perhaps, to be part of my life.., or maybe its purpose itself. (Somehow hugging the Bible still works for me on sleepless nights, though.)

I miss my room, which has seen the true me; the emotional outbursts of multiple sorts, the turmoils of an unattended mind.

And yeah, most of all I owe a lot to those TV shows that kept me sane.
Ally McBeal kinda made me feel that I was normal.

Months back, when I stepped into my inlaws' house on my wedding day, I realised that a usually emotional me had no tears for the house I left behind. I felt at home.