The house as a refuge
Credit: Agustina Gómez
By Agustina Gómez
My house is my refuge. Just like every other house should be, I think. It is the place where we feel safe, protected, secure; where we can be the most honest and genuine version of ourselves. We leave the masks, the make-up, the facade, at the literal and proverbial front door.
For me, who has never felt part of a community, my home is my refuge. I realise how much I long for that feeling of belonging because I have rarely experienced it myself.
During my childhood and adolescence, I made many attempts to integrate into the community around me, but I never succeeded. I never managed to fit in. At university I experienced the feeling of belonging for the first time, but eventually I had to leave those groups when life took me somewhere else. Now I live in a village again, and at every social event where I should be greeting many people and giving smiles, I realise how uncomfortable I feel, and how out of touch I am with the community I am in... once again. At this point in my life, I am resigned to it. I accept it as part of who I am.
When I couldn't find an outside home to interact with, I turned inwards. That is where I grew up, where I blossomed. It happened when I was a child. And it is happening to me now, at the dawn of adulthood, in the first house where I live alone.
It makes me happy to look at the wooden attic above my head before going to sleep, or to write in front of the flower-laden window that changes with the seasons, or to sit down to a delicious dinner I have prepared in my perfect kitchen.
My home is my refuge because it gives me peace. But that wasn't always the case. It took me a while to make it my home. The transformation didn't take much time or money: new covers for the sofa cushions, a bookshelf in the living room to show off books, bizarre elements hidden in the garage and new flowers every week taken (or stolen) from the countryside. But the serenity these little things gave me was enormous.
My touch on this home rubs off on others. The few people who have visited since I've adapted it to my style say that they can tell it is me living here. They can feel that peace I’m talking about.
Perhaps that's what inspired Erin to come up with the idea for Coffee and Unlit Cigarettes, for the concept was born here, on my couch, by my window, as she tells it herself. It was a busy summer morning, and she had the day off. I handed her the keys, with the typically Agustina rainbow keychain and told her to spend as much time as she wanted there. In those hours away from the noise, the people, she was able to recharge her batteries in the peace of my home, thanks to the calm atmosphere I had created. I am very proud of that.
This is a celebration of houses, of homes. An expression of the wish that everyone can create one that corresponds to them, that does them good, that fills them with these feelings of serenity. Because we already feel lost enough in life, our house should be able to be that place where we feel we are where we (finally) belong.
These words celebrate the importance of where we live and how we do life; and they vindicate the ability to make spaces our own by flooding them with our personality without being intimidated by the task. Sometimes small details can create that feeling of home.
Above all, these words point to the importance of sharing ourselves with others. Although I'm a great advocate of what silence and solitude can do for us, I can't help but see how houses are, after all, spaces to welcome others... physical materialisations, bigger than ourselves, of the refuge we can be for those we love.
