There was this house we had... Back in Pakistan, when I just a little girl. It was a huge, mansion-like place, where most of my paternal relatives lived. After I grew up, it was sold, and everyone moved to different houses, but when we pass through that area, which is now a shopping market, I always feel nostalgic. I wish I could turn back time and play there again. Run along the jointed roof with a kite or play with marbles in the courtyard floors. I miss the smell of food from the kitchen, or following around the clucking kitchens and teasing my cousins by leading the rooster by its food into the bathroom and locking it in for an unsuspecting family member to find. That house, in my memory, represents contentment. It was a place I went in the summer, a chance to break away from all my troubles and my nuclear family and relax with relatives. It was a chance to be wild and free and do all the crazy things, a chance to get my clothes dirty and splash in puddles without getting scolded. Make and offer mudpies to my aunts and uncles and just let them laugh at me. It was a place where I could leave the reality of my life, no matter how old I was, and throughly enjoy myself... Where do you want to be ? Where do you want to go ? Where does your heart belong ?