A Place called Home by Ananya Vepa

A Place called Home

By Ananya Vepa

 

Tracy, California was where I first felt like I was home. All my earliest memories are rooted deep in the loam that grows wheat. I lived there for 5 years, and when I left, I felt like my heart was breaking into pieces. So what if I was just 7 years old when I moved? I remember almost everything about Tracy like it was just yesterday. However, I am fast losing them, so I think that sharing my memories will help me hold on to them for longer.

            When I was 5, I started Kindergarten in George Kelly elementary school. Since I was in the afternoon class, I had to go at 11:30 and come back at 3:00. Then I would go outside and romp about in the hot, hot sun until my mother dragged me back into the house. As I’m writing this, I realize that I was sooo innocent. I didn’t have a care in the world, I was as free as a dove and as light as a feather, and I wasn’t hung down with problems. I was happy, and took pleasure in the smallest of things. How I wish that I could be like that now, guileless and completely carefree!

            Tracy was spread out in the most chaotic way that is organized. You could have a huge mall right next to a wheat field (incidentally, West Valley Mall was next to a field) or a cow pasture next to a restaurant (that was there too). Even though I was very small, I could still find my way around. Whenever we went to Safeway (our local supermarket) I would always get lost, without fail. Against all odds, however, I would always find my way back to my mother. It was impossible to get lost in Tracy.

            People might argue that I was too young to remember everything about Tracy, but I do! I remember that it was just off the highway (3 highways to be exact) and nobody came unless they lived there or something. I remember that it was calm and peaceful like a herd of cows. There was no hurry or haste, no rude busmen or loud honkers, just shanti. However, in that air of calm, there was a lot of hard work. There were cows to feed, wheat to plant, kids to teach. It was always busy, but nobody noticed because they were too engaged in the work they were doing. This affected me, and I learnt to be compassionate and to appreciate hard labor.

            I believe it is important to remember the places that you have lived in because the effect they have had on you can never be taken back. Like a plastic mold that shapes metal into filigree, you can never change back into what you used to be. Living in Tracy made me understand that hard work is important in order to have a good life. Looking back, I realize that I was very innocent and carefree, and to be happy in life, I must be like that. What changes has your old home had on you?

 

“How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you-you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences- like rags and shreds of your very life.”

                                                -Katherine Mansfield

 

“When the uniqueness of a place sings to us like a melody, then we will know, at last, what it means to be home.”

                                                -Paul Gruchow