Home - The Pain in Survival
As I wander through the ruins that I once called home I can’t help but feel the apparent despair and hopelessness. Everything that I once called home is lost. The home has lost its warmth. For me the mention of home always brought to my mind the images of me entering the home. It’s an old house, really old something like 150 years old. Many heritage enthusiastic organisations have declared it as a heritage site and offered to renovate the parts of it. And of course my parents declined the offer, their argument: “It’s our home and if we feel need to renovate something we will renovate it on our own.” I always liked this pride of theirs because it made me think of them as the strong people who will never bend whatever be the circumstances. I mean these are the people who survived the ethnic cleansing and target killings of the 1990s. As I keep walking I look around the elegant but deserted buildings that are all around my home. These were all inhabited by people before they left to