ET

Adik arrived last night with Mr Huzza from the sekohla and my red blackberry.Mr. Huzza was kind enough to have the phone fixed for me after I fried it by overcharging it. Who knew? And where would I be without these people in my life looking out for me?

After Mr. Huzza left Adik stayed and sat on our balcony with us while we drank. I had found a bottle of Indonesian coconut wine at the corner store.I didn't know that's what it was. The label said VODKA in big letters but it's only 14.5% alcohol and, after Adik, read the label we discovered it's VODKA aroma. In Indonesia air means water and aroma means flavour. Whatever the language, two sips will give you a smashing headache.

We were practicing Ingris/Bahasa pronunciation when Adik asked, "What's the difference between house and home?"

"House," I began confidently, "is a building. Home is..." and then it hit me like a zen koan. I didn't have an answer.

Home is where the heart is...
Home is where you hang your hat...
Home is where they love you no matter what...
Home is where you belong...
There's no place like home...

But none of these is a good definition. Or maybe they all are.

Talking to my roommate today I remembered again that I am homeless. I made a joke about it and she said, "It must be kind of nice to be rootless."

But, I am not rootless. I may not have any place of my own to call home but my family has given me strong roots. Roots that dig deep down. Roots that tell me who I am no matter where I am.

I think it's kind of nice to be homeless. I think it must be kind of terrifying to be rootless.