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Home inevitably to the common person is an answer from a question of where and what. To ask what is to inquire to the many things to what we can say of a home both in abstract and in a particular manner. In abstract we generalize through all-encompassing words what really makes a home which is true to all homes. On the other side, not all homes in particular are the same in other homes with regards to the materialization of the universals. Different names and appearances of people are involved but still in general we call them family, parents, siblings and etc. A home can be really well be answered by the “what” question.

To the common person, what and where are different ways of asking questions, but to some most especially those who had a little bit of Aristotle is that, the where is part of the what – accidence of place. A home materializes itself with people around in a space that it occupies along with it. A structure or even the reminiscence of the living room arrangement or the house by the sea or by the trees or amidst the noisy slums can be the best place of what can be a home. Space and the people along with it make the home a  home, wherein we can best peer into our memories when we look into old pictures taken by the first generation mass produced Kodak camera.


A lot of families have been a lot to places or even enjoyed their stay in their own abodes. Enjoying the company of the many people around or inevitably in pain together, all what family and a home feels like to be. So, they ask “What is home?”. I can tell them numerous experiences in detailed accounts with the so many fortunate and unfortunate events that had happened. I can tell them the people involved. How they look like. However, there is one thing that I am deeply affected and this is the less looked question that comes together with “what” and that is “when”.


For me “when” bears more meaning and pondering more than what and where. What and where together with the who can easily be told, but the “when” is the hardest. Time, all I can say there was once a time. A home trapped in “that” time. All there is to say, there was once was a home and I live each day to live through a wreckage of what stood before an edifice. Everyday is living through restoring or resentment of what was once was. Time stood still when Home was, Time changed when Home was not. What is home? When is home? Home is when it was once was. Hoping it will be what it was. We can go through the day in space, but we have, I have a baggage in time. 

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