Since when does one’s residence move towards the concept of “home”? Is it related to time? Is it related to memory? Is it related to the circumstances? Is it related to my troubles, my calamities, my loneliness? Is it related to my laughter, my expectations, my aspirations? Is it related to my migrations and departures?

Human migration is a process of finding a place to belong in a multi-segmented conduit of geographical barriers. This process is where the invisible field of vision is eaten away by other senses, the agitation of cold machines, the flow of water, the temperature emanating from neighbours in their daily lives, all the mechanical and biological activities that make the dwelling a more real space. This space is the cocoon of inclusion and the thorn of internalisation, giving me belonging and rejecting.

Can the individual who lives here be the sole owner of the space? A genetically embedded sense of territoriality rejects humidity and dust. The civilisation of the “home” fights against the wildness of the space itself. The board that holds the resting place defines the dispute ceased between this room and the next, a holy base on one side and a fiery leaning tower on the other, not a complete opposition, all the holes are digested by the self.

Life is full of gentle surprises, and a noise from a damp, decaying floor may be the alarm that prompts us to move to a more stable area. Time and time again, the repairs take us out of the uncertainty of the road, into the sensitivity appears before sleep, and finally adapt to the “home”. The rotten floor that held us up has been plastered with a beautiful appearance. Like the daily routine, it is a skeleton restored by a succession of miracles.

The angle of view is one of the bases for determining the relationship between man and his dwelling. Do not look up at the unfamiliar ceiling from time to time when you are not lying down. The unconscious stretching is a testament to the oppression that lurks. “Home” should not echo with the buzzing of laments, so please plan a grand prank to mock the joys which has been restrained.

he emotions called expectations and ideals will stop at the“home” station, and when it arrives, the material and emotional contents of the space, including ourselves, will be collected into a single package. Part of the package will be sent to an unpredictable dream world, part of the package will be sent to a factory that recovers promises, and the rest will be lost on the road. Ultimately, we will not be able to reside in a paper shell, to step out, to be judged, and then to return the judgment.

Is it true that memory can store energy, and that all events and matter will eventually form a hollow world, so that I am here and at “home”?