momentarily still fleeting self. This is my home, my sanctuary in a hurry-hurry, screen-screen, rough-tough world. This is where my shadow and I shelter, inhabit, with my habits. Perhaps my habits are the expressions of me, my freedom to repeat them, to know them, to live with them an essential part of my being and my identity. Perhaps I inhabit my habits rather than my architecture. Perhaps my habits are simply me building memories — ... Who will remember my habits? When we leave home, we have emigrated, and we are changed forever when we migrate. We have decided to leave, we have left, and even if we do return it is to the place we left, not the home we knew, not home anymore. 23 © IAN RITCHIE, 2005 EXCERPT
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