A home, whatever it means…

A couple of weeks ago I attended the workshops “Migratory Homes”. It’s a project run by Basia Śliwińska and Marion Arnold, based on discussions between Western and Eastern/Central European women about homes and migrations, art and craft. Before the first workshop we had been asked to bring personal objects to facilitate a discussion on memories, migrations and shared experiences. Then, during the meeting, we told the stories of our objects and then we answered the questions: Where is our home? Have we found a new home? What opportunities and limitations has migration offered us? 

It was a very intense discussion, very personal and very deep, so sometimes it was heartbreaking. But it was needed. For me personally it was needed to drown in the word: “homeless”. 

The piece below is not my happiest one… but it’s not a real story. It bases on the mixed experiences of women like me, who I was lucky enough to meet. Thanks once again to Basia, Marion and all participants of the “Migratory Homes” workshops.

- Honey, I’m home!!!

- Yes, I can hear you! – I thought irritated. I heard his car on the street, then the engine stopped, he opened and closed the door… click…click… not in a rush, not hurrying, so I could predict that he had had a good day at work. Then I heard the heels of his smart shoes tapping on the pavement… click….click… not in a rush, keeping his own rhythm, his standard pace, so predictable, without going off beats. Five steps before he reached a door, he had taken the keys out from his trousers pocket, from his right pocket. He never has to look for them. They are always there: in the right pocket of his trousers. Finally he opened and closed the door… click…click… not in rush, not hurrying:

- Honey, I’m home!!!

- Hey, great! Dinner is already on the table. Are you hungry? – I heard my sweet voice… so sweet that I felt nausea. I looked at my reflection in a perfectly clean pot lid and I noticed that I was smiling. Stainless steel distorted my grin. My own pot sneered, looking at me. I closed my eyes and tried very hard to focus on something different from my thoughts. I heard the water drops falling from the tap to the hard depths of the kitchen sink and splashing up. I was one of the water drops. I fell, splashed up and drained down the dry pipe to be sunk with others. The sunken water drops. What an irony.

- Honey, are you ok?

- I’m not! – I screamed in my mind. I felt his strong hand on my shoulder and warm breath on my neck. He hugged me tight and whispered something to my ear but I didn’t hear him. Under my eyelids I saw the pictures which I decided I wouldn’t pass through, so I opened my eyes quickly.

- Honey, are you ok?

- Yes, I am. I’m just a little bit weak today but all is fine. It’s just the weather. It’s going to rain, isn’t it? How was your day? – I heard my voice but I ignored the sweetness. I didn’t look at the lid while I moved it to the sink. I opened the tap to drown out the noise of the individual drops. The sound of the running water was louder than my inner scream. It also was louder than my husband’s talk about his work, his life, his expectations, his ambitions, him.... I listened to him but I didn’t hear anything he said. I just heard the sound of the running water repeating:

- I want to go home… I want to go home… go home… home…

- Honey, have you noticed that I’m back home? – he asked irritated – You don’t seem to be listening to me.

- Yes… home… what do you mean by home? – I asked loudly, surprised by the bitterness in my voice. And I knew I wasn’t smiling. 

- Oh, Honey! Not again! I’m tired and I have a right to relax after my work, don’t I?! We have already agreed that it has to be this way, we have no choice, it is better for both of us… haven’t we?! So please, not again! Pull yourself together. I know that it’s a difficult time but I’m here to help you, to support you. But now, please, let me relax. I’m sure that dinner is delicious as always. - he said so confidently that I forgot again that he also had his doubts…

- Yes, you are right, it is better for both of us… - I said submissively - Every step is dance, every word is song, every feeling is love in your world – I sang while I was watering my plants: Lilly the Pink and Mark the Tree. Then I made my choice, even if in my messy bag I couldn’t find my keys to nowhere…

Inside the bag:
An IPod with uploaded music to drown out the silence
A reusable bag to rescue nature
A random book to read in passing
A mascara and eye shadow to hide the tears
A lip balm for bleeding lips
A sanitary pad and umbrella just in case
Mints to kill the taste of my sins
A hairbrush and clip to tame myself
A notepad and pencil to keep thoughts in mind
My business cards to find myself
A wallet including my identity and pennies for a rainy day
A mobile to switch off to detach from the world

I deeply believed that it was all I needed to run away from you.
I dreamt of carrying it and running ahead, possessed.
You have stopped me by spilling it on the floor,
Trampling my hope, treading my courage down,
Asking if I had the keys to nowhere.