This is what I call home. This. Being in my room. My red room. My little red room. With my little white heater. Listening to a weird instrumental that I don't know the name of. Sipping hot coffee. Using my own computer. Typing on my own keyboard. With half frozen hands. Wearing mismatched purple socks.
Having my camera with me again. Watching Midnight in Paris with s1 at night. Discussing random nothings with the parents over Kashmiri Chai. Reading my novel, and falling asleep on the floor. With a huge comforter over me, which is the perfect wintery shade of blue. Waking up randomly at 6 a.m and taking a hot shower. Using s1's weird nicely scented products. And falling back to sleep. In the blue comforter. On the floor.
This. Is. Home.
Being lectured by dad for not being interested in cooking. Or shopping. Being pampered by mom. Getting breakfast in bed. Huge burgers and fries. Annoying s1 out of her mind. Laughing idiotically for hours with s2. Going out with friends. Every. Other. Day. Being idiots. Me taking pictures of every little thing. The cups, the speakers, the walls.