A House of One's Own

There comes a time in one's life when territory matters, and matters a lot. As you grow older, and hopefully wiser, you become more aware, aware of your surroundings, aware of spaces and objects occupying those spaces, aware of your world and the people who inhabit it, aware of one's own self and the its needs. And the primal need of any living thing to grow and flourish, to live and be, to exist is 'space', 'place', a 'venue', that is marked as one's own. A place which is undoubtedly, without any contention, and without any counter claim one's own. Plants need a piece of earth to exist, you take that away and you kill the plant, animals need their sanctuary, their abode, which is natural and conducive to their existence, many a species have died away as their living spaces were tampered with by humans. By the same token, humans need a place of their own to live, to be, to exist so to say. My body takes up a certain concrete and tangible piece of this earth and its atmosphere, you take that space away from me and I will no longer exist as myself.

A house of one's own is merely an extension of that living and being space. We need to own or claim an objectively defined location to live out our lives, maybe its the stage we need to act out our destined parts, the point being, we need a certain amount of land to be in this life and even after we die. Our graves, no matter, how humble and common become our homes, our claim on this earth, on its history and on its future. The space defines our presence makes it plausible and believable.

I want a house of my own to be myself, it is my stamp on this earth that I am, and I exist as a life. A house of own is my identity, my marked territory that delineates what can and cannot be a part of my life. Within, I can reveal my true self which is unknown even to me, it is unknowable by process and conscious deliberation. It merely unveils and comes about when it has a place it can call its own. It only 'is' in a house of one's own.