【dreaming（of及home及and及mother）】There is a quiet moment in the night when the world seems to hold its breath, and the mind drifts into places it has not visited in years. It is then that I find myself dreaming of home and mother — two words that carry more weight than they should, yet feel like the only things that can truly comfort me.

Home is not just a place, but a feeling. It is the sound of the morning birds singing through the window, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the kitchen, and the soft glow of a lamp in the hallway that never goes out. It is the laughter of siblings, the warmth of a blanket on a cold evening, and the gentle voice of someone who knows you better than you know yourself.

And then there is mother. She is the one who holds the memories, the one who keeps the stories alive, and the one who always knows when something is wrong, even when you don’t say a word. In my dreams, she is always there — smiling, watching, waiting. Sometimes she speaks, sometimes she doesn’t. But her presence is enough.

These dreams are not always happy. Sometimes they are filled with longing, with the ache of distance and time. I dream of walking through the old neighborhood, of touching the door that once opened to a warm embrace, of hearing her call my name from the other side of the room. And yet, even in those moments of sadness, there is peace.

Because in dreaming of home and mother, I am reminded of where I came from, of who I am, and of the love that never fades. It is a reminder that no matter how far I go, there will always be a place to return to, and a person who will always welcome me back.

So I dream, not because I am lost, but because I am searching for something real. Something that cannot be found in the noise of the world, but only in the quiet corners of memory and heart. Dreaming of home and mother is not just a longing — it is a part of me, a piece of who I am, and a light that guides me through the darkest nights.