The Idea of Home

Last night, I cooked on my own for the first time. The homesickness finally kicked in. I wanted to eat something that reminded me of home, something warm and spiced. 

I made something my mom usually makes, or atleast tried to recreate it. It didn't work, but I tried. As i was cooking, I inhaled the smell of the food and my eyes welled up with tears. It smelled like home. 

I'm not someone who really likes staying home all the time, but I think home isn't really small place, I think it's bigger than that. In class, my professor asked me to describe how I knew I was home. I talked about the heat of Chennai, the humidity, the never ending sound of traffic, the smell of jasmine flowers, the smell of spices and tea, and the hot breeze. 

Home isn't just my house. It's everything that welcomes me every morning. Here, the heat is dry. There isn't any moisture in the air. I'm used to the heat, but the lack of moisture makes it hard to breathe and I ended up missing the heavy blanket of hot air that Chennai offers. 

I know I'm going to be okay here and that I will be fine, but I couldn't help missing some little things about Chennai.