[Warm Drone with low drum underscore]

 

[Masego Lynia] I’ve learnt to furnace the most explosive of emotions 

I know how to scream silently and panic calmly 

I keep it together I don’t crack, I never crack, black don’t crack

Because what am I void of all this pain and suffering 

My house is a sanctuary, a temple, ever so sacred I shake and dust the world off and leave what ever remains of it at the door (before I come in) 

It is to me what my body is to my insides, and they mirror and spill over each other 

My bed a love letter and a perpetuated apology to every part of my body that slept in hard spaces 

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[Gentle piano music underscore]

​

Even with a weighted blanket, some days I fail to feel grounded 

Even with 3 hot water bottles most days warmth fails to reach me 

I cry here, I laugh here and I convince myself that, a life void of suffering 

I play make believe 

And I practise this ritual of living that I fervently pray and unrelentingly hope that it will one day finally stick - surviving is easy, living that’s trying to move a mountain. 

 

[Warm Drone with low drum underscore]

​

Life remains the same, I’m just a new comer to this living thing, not running thing, no fighting thing safety thing 

Much like me my house is so beautiful on the outside, each day I work to make it so on the inside, make it habitable - and try to let go of what’s no longer useful.

​

They say I’m a hard nut to crack, but this house knows my softness. Each room whispers a different welcome, a different story. In my bedroom, I try to carve out a sanctuary of peace, [High held notes strings underscore] where sleep is welcome and the black-out curtains hold back the terrors. It’s a place where I can finally rest, where the bed says, “You are safe here, you belong.”

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I remember hard floors and borrowed corners, but now I am learning what it means to have a space that can’t be taken from me. A home that is truly mine.

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[Warm Drone underscore]

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My bathroom is a quiet retreat, a mirror that reflects how far I’ve come, where I honor the scars and the journey on my skin. It’s a place to care for myself and remember that healing is a daily ritual.

​

In my study, I create magic, turning dreams into words and work into sustenance. It’s proof that I can rise from nothing, that everything I need was always within me.

The living room has become a new friend, a space where I now linger, letting myself simply be. 

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[Guitar and female voice fragment]

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And in the kitchen, I try to recreate my grandmother’s meals, sitting on the floor and tasting memories of a time when home was a tangible feeling.

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[Guitar, piano gentle warm music underscore]

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When I first walked into this house, it called my name: “Home, home, home.” The stairs, the art, the window that shows a glimpse of the outside world, it all felt right! And maybe the world sees in through the same window, maybe it doesn’t. But this is my place, my sanctuary, where my plants grow and thrive green and I am finally, quietly, at home.