Address

Far beyond the fields of the village, where the long grass grows, there is a patch of trees. They rise up above the green grass, covering the sky. If you stand underneath them, your skin looks green, as if you were swimming under a mossy lake, where sunlight finds it hard to penetrate. 

Under the giant tree which has a trunk with a chipped out burrow, lies my home. To access this place, one has to dig with one's hands. Of course, not everyone likes to get their hands soiled, especially the fingernails. But if you do dig hard enough, you find a trap door. 

It is a beautiful trap door, made like an antique with bars of black iron marking a solid design. The handle is the face of a lion, an almost long forgotten warrior's emblem. It is also a warning for weak willed people and intruders to keep out. If you trespass, I could come after you with a sword. 

Upon pulling open the creaky door, you will find a ladder that goes down. It lands up in a tunnel that stretches further under the forest. I wanted the door to be easily accessible in case I lose myself in the forest some day. Also, occasionally I do allow people to see my home. Only those who I trust, and ones who will never reveal the hidden address of my precious home to anyone else. I don't trust people easily and hence the hesitation. 

Finally after walking for ten minutes, you will find another door, the one that opens into my home. There is a giant knocker on a blue door. This knocker, however is not a lion. It is a red Robin on the blue door. I do love birds. I find them to be fascinating, magical creatures. 

Once you enter, you will find my walls are made of giant stones and rocks, some of them colorful. I used to love collecting stones as a child, something I gave up later in life.

But on my walls, there is space for all sorts of stones. The floor is wooden, because I like to hear the sound of footsteps on creaky floors. It makes me feel blissfully alive. I also love the smell of wood. Sometimes I find myself holding the trunk of a tree, touching it with my fingers to feel its coolness, smelling it to recognise the resin it excretes. Just as I love smelling skin, sometimes it smells grassy like mine, sometimes like warm milk, sometimes musty like old rooms. 

You would think my house is completely hidden, but it isn't. I do like a bit of sunlight. My windows are covered with creepers that trail from the forest floor across my house. I have squirrels who like to playfully prance in and out of the windows. There are mattresses and floor cushions with books and music. I like sitting and sleeping on the floor. Sometimes I bring hay from the village and lay it across because it makes me believe I have a horse lying next to me. I do love horses and the way they smell. If I did not spend so much time hiding here, I would have loved to work on a farm. But that would mean talking to people all the time. I'm not scared of people and neither do I hate them. I'm just very particular about who I want to talk to. 

I do have friends who come home and talk. But after a point I feel so tired. They often ask me what I want, what makes me happy, who do I love, all that stuff that people make their lives revolve around. I do tell them that I am happy here. I don't need enough to make me happy. But they seldom believe me. When I step out of here, people think I need something from them. But I don't. How can I make them understand I already have everything to make me happy? 

My kitchen is outside the house. I would be silly to light a fire here. The fumes would clog up here, making me breathless and even one spark would burn my home down. So I go back into the tunnel and continue walking till I reach the other side, where the tunnel ends near the river. I have all my supplies here. The water and fish are aplenty. I also like to eat outdoors and take a nap near the river. The sound of water gurgling is the most perfect sound in the world. Sometimes I strip down naked and sit in the water for hours. Everything in the world seems perfect if you are sitting inside water. 

In the night, I sleep in my house, the sounds of insects buzzing like a lullaby. Every night, I look up to see where the moon is in the sky. Sometimes when it's high up, I know I will sleep soundly. When it's full and low, warm and approaching, I watch it for hours. I can very rarely sleep on a full moon night. It seems like such a waste to sleep when the whole forest is illuminated, when everything comes alive. 

When I die, I hope I die here. I would die a happy death and not be the least bit afraid. As long as I am home, I could never feel lost.