|pic, laila's home, bangalore, may 2nd 2012|
1. A place where one lives; a residence.
2. The physical structure within which one lives, such as a house or apartment.
3. A dwelling place together with the family or social unit that occupies it; a household.
a. An environment offering security and happiness.
b. A valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin.
5. The place, such as a country or town, where one was born or has lived for a long period.
6. The native habitat, as of a plant or animal.
7. The place where something is discovered, founded, developed, or promoted; a source.
8. A headquarters; a home base.
|bottle, laila's home, bangalore, may 2nd 2012|
How is it to not have your home?
I do not know. I cannot even imagine to move out of my home.
People always tell me that they moved from this house to this house. Took their things with them, got used to a different surrounding.
I am born in my home, grew up there, have all my childhood memories there. Most of them, except some from my relatives close to munich, where I sued to spend some of my summers, before I started to work in my parents business.
|bottle2, laila's home, bangalore, may 2nd 2012|
But most of my memories where there. From helping my granny with cleaning the potatoes, being scared of the bull, who was attacking my granddad when I was 7 and I was so scared that I avoided to go through the backside of my house, which costs me double the way and time, playing with my cousin and burning and afterwards eating bread in the attic. Hiding in front of my granny to avoid service, but being caught and being denied from Sunday lunch. Working in my parents place first as a dishwasher, not being able to reach the start button but being able to carrying good 30 big plates at once. Working later at a waitress, spilling drinks over people and enjoying the sound of quiet after work time.
And having friends, and parties, till in the morning. Talking, drinking, enjoying in the so called television room. being so tired that even sleeping is too much of an effort. Memories covered in nostalgy.
|bike, laila's home, bangalore, may 2nd 2012|
My home. All connected. Would they be not anymore there when the place is gone? No I do not think so. I just do not know how it feels, too loose something, which was integral part of your life, final. Not anymore able to take back.
Laila's home was build 15 years ago, deigned and executed by her dad. It is high, expands up and down, is like a maze, lead into different places within the place. Almost a bit of discovery, a big garden around, under, on different levels.
Her parents bought a new place, maybe they move there. Then laila would get the place. She would love to make a café out of it, for a lot of different people and for herself.
|basketball, laila's home, bangalore, may 2nd 2012|