Going Home

The road I take going home from work everyday in Berkeley/Oakland Hills.

Over the years, the shapes and sizes of houses where I have lived have changed. From my huge childhood house in suburban Tehran, to a tiny college-student studio in Berkeley, to the house in which I now live with my children, and all the small and huge houses in between, the shapes, addresses, cities, and continents of my residences have changed. Things and people in those houses have also somewhat changed based on circumstances governing my life at different times. At no time in my life, however, have I felt the peace and happiness I feel these days when I go home at the end of the day. I have come to realize that the house doesn't matter. It is the "home" that matters, that which gives us peace and happiness, the place where we feel relaxed and joyful to be, to eat, to think, to laugh, to cry, and to live and love. I'm glad I am finally out of houses, and that I live in a home, where I believe I have everything a person could ever need in life, where people await or meet you lovingly and eagerly, where there is peace. I have that home now, and it has taken me many years to reach it, but I'm there. Each day I leave work at the end of the day these days, I tell myself I'm going home to my home.