Way home

The last time I was at my parent's house was at the end of July. It's been a long time for me and a lot has changed at home. In particular, the place of home has changed. I remembered a three-room apartment on a housing estate with a view of the hills behind the dam and a small kitchen where we pushed our big asses as the four of us tried to help with Sunday lunch. I often imagined my parents in that kitchen when I was in Prague. And suddenly I had to return to a completely foreign place. I admit, I didn't know how to feel. I was afraid it wouldn't be a real homecoming. I was afraid that I didn't have my place there.

I got off the train at Sliač, it was already a big change for me compared to the habit of getting off in Zvolen, and I stood in the parking lot behind the railway station. I held the strap of my travel bag in both hands like Anne Shirley when she waited for Mathew at Bright River station. I straightened up and stood firm to look like a grown lady when my mom came to pick me up. I forbade myself to cry when I see her after a long time.

A car emerged from behind the avenue of trees that grow along the road and stopped in front of the house. I saw the beaming face of my mother, my neighbor behind the windshield, and my grandmother rushed out from the back seat with tears in her eyes. I kissed and hugged them all and silently watched their chatter as they drove me away from the train station.

I must say that the way home, I mean to the new home, leads through a beautiful landscape. We passed through Sliač, headed along the road between the fields where people go to use skates or bicycles towards Large Meadow. We went up the hill between the houses and there is a border between the real world and a fairy tale. You go down past a meadow with a wooden fence, the road meanders past a clean, sparkling stream, continues through woods, past apple trees, past a wooden gazebo for honeydew to the first houses in the village.

Grandfather was already waiting for me at the door, and my sister and father were waiting inside with warm coffee. The dog, all curious as to who had come home, scratched the porch door with his paw and licked my face for fifteen minutes. Behind that door to our living room is only holy peace. You can see the hills and forests towards Banská Bystrica, and during the dark night you can count the stars in the meadow there.

All fear fell from me. It gave me strength. I realized that I was looking for a place where I belonged, but let me tell you, that place is not far from my family. Even if I feel abandoned or unneeded, it's only a deceptive feeling, because in the family each member has his own place. It fits in there like a puzzle. And can you imagine how incomplete a puzzle picture looks without that one piece?