INDIVIDUAL ESSAY
When the area you call home disappears item by piece.
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I remember a time when my parents and I checked out an under-construction apartment or condo to buy a two-BHK. It was right before my wedding, and the apartments were valued lower than many others. We entered the structure with enthusiasm and a fragile hope that maybe this time, lastly, we would certainly have a home of our own.
More than anyone, it was my mom who was one of the most ecstatic. Having invested her entire married life moving from one rented out house to another, never ever as soon as having a roof covering to truly call her very own, she allowed herself think for a quick moment.
I keep in mind just how her eyes sparkled when she tipped onto the porch in the living-room and showed me the view of faint synopsis of hills distant. She talked to a childlike excitement regarding where she would position the TV, the dining table, and the fridge. She relocated from one edge to another, right into one of the areas and told me it would be mine, encouraging to embellish it with my youth personal belongings.
For the very first time in my life, I saw my mommy happy, really happy, and it showed in her eyes. And yet, like whatever else in our lives, the delight was momentary because the house …