Home Is Where The Heart Is

Its been four years since our last move and I have to say that I had forgotten the chaos that comes with it. My house looks like a frat house right now. Piles of clothes lie here and there, cartons have engulfed every inch of the space, keys have been lost, the trash pile is larger than the things we actually need, arguments are going on on what to keep and dispose off ( my mom wants to throw everything) and any attempt at making the house cleaner ends up making it more messy.

After taping and labeling a carton, we find something that has to specifically go that in one. Than we have to open it up again. Its a disaster. We only have two days left till the moving day and let me tell you that only our store has been packed and the books of the house, which occupy more space than rest of the things combined. Abbu had a fit seeing so many books. And he uttered the words “ban” and “books” in the same sentence. I said, lets not go there, my dear daddy. Because more than half are yours.

What I love about moving houses is that you have an excuse for everything. Didn’t do your homework. Moving houses. Didn’t callback a friend. Moving houses. Missed dental appointment. Moving houses. Ordered pizza three times in a week. Moving houses. Its awesome. And it works every single time.

Its a little weird though. In a way, we don’t have a single house to call home. So we make every one of the houses we live in, our home. And you get attached to it. But the fun part is that you have numerous houses all over the continents to call your home.

This house like many before, has been our home. It has seen us BBQ countless times on the roof, than counting the stars in the sky, running upstairs like its a marathon to watch the fireworks. My favourite corner where I have sat, blinded by sunlight, drinking coffee and writing something. The wall that is covered with my incomplete sketches of the Doha Skyline, Huzaifa’s disastrous writing on top of it and Moawiz’s creepy hand drawn men crawling all over it. Me and Muaaz dancing like we are possessed, in the cold November rains. Our endless arguments on who will sweep the garage floor. The crazy idea we had of painting it ourselves and we did do it.

I sincerely hope that we pack everything and still have our body parts working. Because right now, we look like gypsies who have parked their caravans on the country side and thrown everything in it.

Good luck to you and to us !

Adieu !



2 thoughts on “Home Is Where The Heart Is

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s