home and family

I was in a cab with a friend the other day, and she turned to me and asked if I call my dorm by its name, RC4, or if I called it home.

I didn't answer for awhile, because I was thinking very hard about what home meant to me. It means different things to different people, but for me, it was very simple. Home is where family is. It's where you feel the safest. It's the place you go to after a long, tiring day and are completely comfortable. It's where you can laugh, cry, throw a fit, and be okay.

And then it occurred to me that whenever I was out with friends, I would always tell them, "I'm going home."

It became second nature to me after awhile, calling this place home. I don't know when this happened. I don't know when I stopped calling this place "RC4" and started calling it "home". Words say so much more than we think, and I realise that this place is my home because the people here are my family.

So I told my friend that I called it home, and said it's where my family is. Somewhere along that sentence, my voice cracked. Family. It was painful to say that word.

"Home is where family is, but I broke that family up two months ago."

In what I gather was a bid to comfort me, she said something about how I've known these people for slightly over half a year, and how that can't exactly mean they're my family.

Well, honestly? I disagree. I really do. I think there's so much more to being family than time. I've known some people for half my life, but they're just good friends. I love some people to death, but they're just good friends. Family is different. Family is a whole new level of commitment. Of promises. Of love, and of forgiveness.

I remember the moment I decided every single one of these people were family. I remember the feeling of safety, hugging a friend by the Esplanade waterfront, and realising I hadn't felt safe for a long, long time. I remember breaking down at another friend's door from emotional stress, and instead of being disgusted, he made me come in, sit on his bed and let me cry it all out. I remember a conversation two friends had in secret (but one told me) where they both expressed how difficult it was to show they loved me, but that they were seized by an overwhelming need to protect me if the need ever arose. I remember sitting by the lift lobby and talking about family. I remember fights and I remember reunions. But most of all, I remember all the love and the trust.

My biggest mistake, though, was deciding that these people were family. Because you don't get to decide. It's got to happen on its own. Words say so much more than we think, but sometimes, they don't say enough.

Sometimes, even family isn't enough.