The house of my childhood calls to me often in my dreams. The water jar at the bottom of the steps, like a good friend greets me, a silver dipper ready for any visitor. The verandah is where I sit to watch the sun depart the day, casting fairy-tale shadows over the rice fields. The room where I sleep has a soft net draped from the ceiling, a reed mat on the rustic wooden floor. At night the gas-light fills the room with stories. They keep me company all night long.
“Never make your home in a place. Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You’ll find what you need to furnish it – memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things. That way it will go with you wherever you journey.”