I never knew what home is until I built one. Right in front of my parent’s house, not technically built, but I made ‘a home’ out of secondhand recyclable junks and some real good friends. I founded a so-called coffee shop since August last year that now I called ‘a home’.
I worked hard every night and day to bought piece by piece of dream that I’ve always wanted. A place that I could feel like home whenever I feel lost. It’s a real thing when I put my heart and mind into it. It’s not an imaginary when I invest all my energy into it.
And of course, it’s a bit harsh when people talked shit behind it.
ingénue 