Circa 2014.
Here, the dad escaped from civil service after a meritorious work with the state. I recall with intense and shocking familiarity the events of this day. I had raced down to insert myself (also) in this organized rectangle. A family portrait.
I had raced down from school. I had raced down home. Home, where the WiFi connects automatically. Where hearts are wired and connected together as though a single heart - beating in unison, in synchronous Lub-dubs. The home does that to you. What exactly is it about home?
What or where is home?
Is home a place or a space, a feeling or a memory? Is home a family, that active state of being in the world, of engaging and relating with other things that are in their own active states, of friendship?
Or is home, truly, as some would have it said, where the heart is?
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