My Origin Was That "Little House"

"Dad, I want to move, too. I want to live in a big house and have my own room."

To the child me who often said things like that, my father would always reply with this:

"Home, sweet home, though it be small."

Back then, I felt a bit conflicted toward my father, who would always reply with those words while smiling.

Especially during my middle and high school years, my desire to move reached its peak.

My friends had their own rooms, decorated cutely with their favorite posters and knick-knacks.
"How nice, I'm so jealous."
Every time I went over to visit, that's what I thought.

Since I didn't have a room like that, I remember hurriedly tidying up the bedroom whenever I invited friends over, trying to make it look somewhat like "my own room."

—

If my mother had stayed healthy—
If we had continued living as a family of five.
I once heard from my father, in a gentle way, that we might have moved.

During those student days, the person who stayed at home in my mother's place was my father's mother, my grandmother.

My grandmother would often tell me things like this.

Those words, which I had somewhat let pass by back then, now linger warmly in my heart.

—

And as time passed, I created a "home" of our own.

When building the house, what came to mind was the life in that little house where I was born and raised.


Tracing my memories—


The early days when we would all lie down in a row in the small bedroom.
On midsummer nights, when it was too hot to sleep, my mother would gently fan us with a paper fan.

The nights when we would line up home-cooked meals and handmade candles on the living room table, singing together while playing music.
At Christmas, the five of us would huddle together, shoulders touching, and take a commemorative photo with smiles on our faces.

Because we didn't have individual rooms, we sisters were always in the living room, and our conversations never stopped.
Seeing us like that, my grandmother would sit on the stairs with a crinkly smile and stay by our side, saying,

"It's like little birds singing."

During my adolescence, we were so close that we would sometimes clash over little things, but because there was no place to hide away, we would naturally start talking again after some time had passed.

And as if nothing had happened, we would return to our usual daily life.
Even though I had longed for such a large house and my own room.

It is strange, but thinking about it now, that sense of distance was the most comfortable.
It was as if the whole family was tucked snugly into a single box.

Such a space became my ideal "home."
—

Sometimes these thoughts come to mind.



If I had a time machine, I would want to go back to that house at that time once more.I want to quietly peek at the time when the whole family was huddled together in the living room of that small house.
The fact that everyone was close by was actually very warm and happy.

Now, I have come to deeply realize that.
—

This house, which I built while picturing that little house from back then,

has now become a "place to return to" for someone.
My sister's family comes to visit, or my father drops by on his way home from work.

When the doorbell rings, the children look at the screen and run to the entrance, shouting, "Grandpa!"

Or they are restless for days, asking, "Are the cousins coming?"

Seeing such scenes,

my heart feels warm, thinking that I am glad I built this home.
I don't have a "parent's home" where everyone can gather and stay over.

But the fact that this current house has become such a place,
is warmer and happier than anything else.
—

…Having said that, sometimes such thoughts cross my mind.

"If only I had a 'parent's home' to return to, too."

My sisters tell me, "Big sister's house is like our parent's home."

That it has become a house they think of that way is the happiest thing for me.

But at the same time,

I sometimes pause and feel an indescribable emotion, thinking, "If only I had a place to return to like a parent's home, too."
At such times, someone said these words to me.

Those words gently wrapped around the empty space that had been in the depths of my heart.
I never imagined that having someone say that to me would be such a salvation.

—

"There is a place I want to return to."
"There is a place I can return to."
How happy that is.

The words my father said when I was a child,
"Home, sweet home, though it be small,"
are now my origin,and a memory I truly want to return to.—

From now on, for my own family.

And for someone else, too—


I want to quietly keep warming this house, like a sunny spot where one can think, "I want to return."