What is the emotional meaning of home? We go though life with the need to belong, work towards the ultimate home owners dream, and spend thousands on decor and home upkeep. But what really is the meaning of home?
Home – just a little four letter word, but with a meaning so big and encompassing that it can awaken a multitude of human emotions within seconds of hearing, saying or even whispering it. From laughter, joy, and peace to tears, sorrow and sadly even fear, not many words come close to the impact this one simple word can have on the human heart.
But home is not just a word, but a feeling. It is only once we understand this, that we can truly be at home.
This post is all about the emotional meaning and FEELING of HOME.
EMOTIONAL MEANING OF HOME
For me, home has had a lot of meanings over the years, but most of all it had always meant and will always mean love. It was never so much about the house or apartment, nor about the nice things we had or lack thereof, but about the people, the setting and the feeling I got coming home.
I was determined to work hard, study hard and grow to be the perfect wife, mother, cook and hostess. I made it my lifelong project, a purpose if you will, to turn my home into a place of comfort, peace and most importantly love.
Those We Look Up To
Growing up I was blessed to have excellent role models. The men in my family were strong, honest, hard working people with principles they stood by. Most of them veterans with years in the army, they carried themselves with dignity and honor.
The women were the embodiment of all that a woman should be and a blessing for any girl growing up among them. My mother, grandmothers and aunts were a fierce bunch. They were strong, confident women and collectively, a force to be reckoned with.
Community Ties and
The Emotional Meaning of Home
It is them that taught me the emotional meaning of home. The term “it takes a village to raise a child” was literally my life. I watched them work from dusk till dawn and then some, never to complain and always able to crack a joke. They would be working for hours under the sun, caring heavy loads of crop, but they would sing. The harder the work got, the louder the songs.
Sometimes the songs were stories, sometimes fables but they were always uplifting, encouraging and inspiring. And sometimes, when the day was done, we would gather on the front porch or balcony and just talk.
There I was watching the stars above the mountain peaks, surrounded by my superheroes. Sitting besides these beautiful remarkable women, I could only dream to some day have half the class, grace and strength they always had.
Their stories and lessons still live within me. I would like to think they always will. They provide answers to everyday challenges and include volumes upon volumes of family recipes and history.
Most importantly they give me hope. I had seen them go through unimaginable things and stand in front of, what would seem, insurmountable challenges, but never give up.
Their faith never wavered, no matter how big the losses or how small the chances. They taught me that there always is an answer, even if you aren’t able to see it just yet.
I know women can be superheros – I have seen them fly.
Everyday Heros to Learn From
As much as I always loved reading, my heroes were never the characters from books, comic or movies. The real heroes in my life were the people who made it better by simply being in it. Those who made me a better person for knowing them.
Some are no longer among us, others are overseas, but they are all a big part of me. I carry them everywhere I go in the lessons I have learned, in the dishes I prepare, in my fondest memories and in every beat of my heart.
Those same remarkable people have passed down to me traditions that are worth keeping and sharing. Away from the land I called home for half my life keeping the traditions and memories alive was important for me. I wanted my childern to be a part of those traditions and a part of that world.
Traditions
With that in mind I started this site a few years ago, hoping that it will be just as I envisioned it. An exciting journey across the borders of familiar and unfamiliar territories, discovering centuries old traditions, passed down from generation to generation, rich in flavor, history and wisdom.
My late grandfather was a wise man and he knew me well. He had been saving to buy me a gift, he never lived to give himself. In his last living hour he asked my mom to give me a book – a large collection of Bulgarian traditional recipes. “Have her take it,” he said, “there in America, so she can cook for the boys, for her friends, for those who care to try. So they can know our Bulgaria and she can remember how we shared meals together.”
I did cook with my kids, but it took me years to publish this, even though the first draft was written years ago. So here I am now, taking the leap to share the legacy of excellent cooks, for whom food has never been just ingredients, but what it ought to always be – a mix of flavors and aromas that represent home, family, and tradition. Aromas and flavors of the heart.
The Family Kitchen
Being a perfectionist I have always been extremely critical of my own culinary creations. Nothing I ever did seemed good enough and when I would start complaining or making excuses my late grandmother would say: “It’s perfect and even if it isn’t, you’ve accomplished something, you learned something and fed your family. Your hands are a gift you need to claim yourself. You keep at it. You work for it. And some day you will be pulling breads out of the oven better than mine.”
My breads are yet to be even close to grandma’s, but they have improved over the years. And every time I think that I am failing her words echo in my mind. “You keep at it. You work for it and some day…” So despite my unhealthy obsession with perfection, I have reached a point of where I would no longer allow it to hold me back. It’s time I share my adventures as imperfect as they may be, feeling proud of where I come from, where I have been and where I am now. Most importantly looking forward to where I will go and who I will become tomorrow, having shared what little I know and having learned undoubtedly vastly more than I originally envisioned.
OF HOME AND HEARTH
Being able to share the legacy my grandparents left me is both a gift and a blessing. This is the emotional meaning of home for me. The traditions, the wisdom and the recipes. Food is the language we all share and understand – a language of hope and love. It is a language of home, however near or far that home may be – even if you, like me, have left pieces of your heart all over the world.
Home may be where the heart is, but the family table is where all pieces of your heart can unite and come together. It is with the food that you can bring them all back or travel there all over again. A trip through space and time, back to your childhood and loved ones. Back to the people and places you may never see again.
After all is said and done, however far from them you may find yourself, you can still close your eyes in front of that plate of warm enchiladas, apple pie, couscous or baklava, and once you take a breath you are there. You can see it it all as clear as the sun on a hot summer day. Grandma’s little kitchen, the fire in the hearth, the full table, the gray hair and the smile of the best cook in the world welcoming you home from the journey.
