Why Don’t I Feel Alone?

Technically, one might say there’s no one around.
I sleep alone and wake up alone—
a balcony with twenty plants
and just me.
three rooms,
and just me.
then why don’t I feel alone?

I question, i ponder, i wonder on many nights
when the noise is reduced to crickets here and there,
or a distant horn of a faraway car,
or the breeze rustling my plants,
or my laptop as I shut it down.

Why don’t I feel alone?
sleeping in a bed meant for two,
waking up and making breakfast for myself,
leaving for work without waving a bye,
deciding my lunches and dinners
with no consideration but my own.
why don’t I feel alone?

Shouldn’t I be scared?

Of lizards and snakes?
of unlocked doors and open windows?
cash in the cupboard
or the fees of my son?

A girl who was once too scared of the dark
is now not even feeling alone.

I know.
I finally know.
like I know how I like my eggs,
or how much i love my son,
how I know which movie is my favorite,
and how I love samosa with bun.

I just know
that
I have always been—
for years and then some more—
on my own.
in a house full of people,
none to call mine.

I was my own mother
and my own husband.
I was my nurse
and my everyday driver.
I was my cook
and my cheerleader.
I cried in my arms
and then consoled myself.
each time i fell,
I picked myself.

and just like that,
I learned, trained, and prepared
while I worked, loved, and cared,
to live on my own
even in a house surrounded.

I don’t feel alone now—
let me tell you that.
not even for a second.
because after years of being alone,
I am now
HOME.