Just A House To Me
You had spent your entire life in one home: your mom’s run-down condo in sleepy Antrim, New Hampshire where you grew up eating inauthentic General Tso’s chicken at Ginger House and picking up sesame bagels with cream cheese at Audrey’s on Wednesdays, knowing everything about your town, your home, which step in your staircase creaked, the exact shape of the burn mark on the left side of your fridge. The mahogany closet in your basement where you used to curl up at age 4 to play hide-and-seek with your three sisters, the bookshelf you broke then repaired at age 10, the army green quilt you received from your grandma at age 13 that covers the twinbed in your room, in your home, in your town. By the time I met you I had lived in over 25 places in Korea England Tanzania South Africa Kenya Lithuania Chile U.S.A. Some homes, some houses, never knowing the houses I lived I was packing unpacking, readjusting new places. thrill of leaving Cockroach House, bittersweet goodbye Mango Tree House, Jacaranda House, the comings goings formings memories, never feeling rootedness. And maybe that’s why we had to end our relationship: I was a home to you, but you were just a house to me.
By Melanie Han, an avid traveler and a poet who was born in Korea, grew up in East Africa, and is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing in Boston. She has won awards from Boston in 100 Words and Lyric, and her poetry has appeared in several magazines and online publications, such as Fathom, Ruminate, and Among Worlds. During her free time, she can be found eating different ethnic foods or visiting new countries.