Home and Hearth

For a lot of people, I represent a concept more than a person: the illusion of “home and hearth.”

It is just that—an illusion. One that has been projected onto me since I was a child. The gentle, sensitive girl who bakes pretty cakes and keeps her space in order. The “good little housekeeper.”

But here is the truth: I do these things because they bring me peace. I like to know where things are. It has nothing to do with cleaning up after someone else or fulfilling someone’s fantasy of domesticity.

There is a tired binary that is still alive and well: women are either domesticated, or they are desirable. You fall hard for the one who excites you, and you settle down with the one who packs your lunch.

What many fail to understand is that while you are praising her for being “a good girl” as you pursue her physically, she is falling for you emotionally. Not because of the intimacy—but because she genuinely likes you. She does

not know that you have already categorised her. She does not see that in your mind, she was never more than a temporary thrill, not someone you actually plan a life with.

Still, you treat her like a partner so you can keep her close—until the thrill fades. Then you either replace her with another version of the same role… or you go find a “real wife.” And she will get the role your mother held: domestic caretaker, emotional ballast, background character. Until you tire again.

And somehow, you are surprised when it all falls apart.

That is because it was never built on love to begin with.

I never wanted to be someone’s “wife.” Not in the way so many define it—as possession, or utility.

I am not a title or a role.

I am the hearth.

I will warm you.

I will feed you.

But I will also burn your house down if you forget that fires need tending.