Home: London

Introduction by Aminita Francis.

Aminita is an Actress, Singer-songwriter and international theatre maker from London. As a young performer, she trained with RSC Youth Ensemble, Battersea Arts Centre's (BAC) Homegrown programme & The Roundhouse Young Creatives. Since graduating from drama school Aminita has collaborated on new devised shows with companies such as The Old Vic, Complicite, Hot Brown Honey and The British council. Notably her writing & musical compositions for multi-award-winning acapella Gig theatre Piece 'Frankenstein - How To Make A Monster' devised with the Beatbox Academy & BAC is set to tour the world following a sold-out run at Edinburgh fringe 2019.

The sound of dumpling and meat soup Bubbling on the stove. The sound of knives and forks clanking together As you simultaneously feast. Tv Static. Capital Xtra. LBC. The slow and peaceful “ahhh” your mouth subconsciously lets out, As you rest your head on the pillow And get cosy under the blanket. The sound of home – the light, the dark, the warmth, the cold – All become settled And set up shop in between your taste buds.

Everything is more authentic. Authentic? Every granule of sugar dissolves. And you know mum’s tea is the best Because that heavy sigh of relief escapes The passageway - From your diaphragm to your nostril, From your nostril to the open air. The smell Of home.

The smell of home is a traitor. He doesn’t want you to smell him - but he throws himself at the stranger next door. The look of home is disjointed like a severed limb that just won’t fall off. You step away from the door, the key leaves the lock and Puff! Like a distant dream you can’t pinpoint the exact image - Like fragile seeds being blown away by the wind.

But then, You follow the lines of the brass knocker with your index, The aging of the metal rigid on your soft skin. Then, the look of home comes flooding in, like a dam bursting – Do you remember when you fell off from the top of the bunk bed? Do you remember when you rearranged your room at 4am? Do you remember how that tea stain got sealed into the mattress?

The look of home is smothering - Not too much that you suffocate But just enough to keep you in your cocoon. And there it goes, The seven AM alarm

And the outside world drags you into its routine. But you are no longer a caterpillar But a worker bee. Fly busy bee, fly. Then back to the colony.

Home: the taste; the smell; the feel. I can remember all of them, Right down to every last atom in my body. The taste is familiar, I can always remember the taste.

Any meal I've had at home, The smell always resonates with me. I know it, I love it.

The feel? Hard to describe, but there. Always. Wherever I go, with the people I love, The feel of home is there.

Home. What is home? People usually think that their home is their house. A repetitive cycle where they wake up, eat, go to the bathroom. I’m not sure if I agree with those people. Because for me, it’s more than that.

Home is when I finish an exhausting day of school. I’m on my way home when I see a group of little children, Spinning on the roundabout and running around Yelling ‘you’re it’ to their friends and just having the time of their lives. It gives me a sense of nostalgia.

What I wish to be care-free again, Without any worries. Because as we grow up, We can’t live like that any more. We must constantly figure it out By ourselves - Taking responsibility for things, And For our parents to be proud of us.

I miss when I thought that adults knew everything - When they could cure my wounds and solve any problems. But now I know that my wounds were small and my problems were easy.

I miss thinking that adults knew a secret to life That we didn’t know. I come staggering to my doorstep With muscle pain from PE And hand cramps from the 2-page extended writing from English, Until I open my front door And my nose captures the savoury aroma of my mum’s cooking. This smell makes me forget about all my problems, And eases my mind Like I’m dreaming And no-one could ever wake me up.

Except for my mum's yelling! Her banshee-like screams, Which could make for a good horror movie, And her eyes almost bulging out of her eye sockets, Snaps me back to reality While the hairs on my body Sit up. I get scared, as I have no idea why she is angry at me, But I keep calm And listen to her.

Even though she’s strict and angry at times, Her love for her children is greater than everything else. We’d sit down And have these lengthy sentimental conversations About her past And the hardships she had to go through To get where she is at today. Her motivation to keep on going inspires me. When I’m lost in my thoughts Or having an identity crisis She is always there With her arms spread out,

Her hugs are warm and pleasant A door welcoming you in. Those arms you can’t resist. They’re special. They reassure you that everything is going to be ok. It’s something that you need. Those arms you never want to let go of. It’s like a drug. She says; “Go on, cry as much as you need to.”

At least once in a lifetime, we will be tired And feel as if we can’t go on. We can’t expect our life to be What we imagined it would be, Without our efforts that we put in. It’s not easy,

So take a step back and Listen to yourself. Don’t lose who you are. You are in control.

So… Home - The emotions, thoughts, Feelings and memories. Expressed through the people who I hold close to my heart. Reminding me that every day which goes by Is special And meaningful If I’m with the people I love, And the people who love me.

I will never forget the feeling of home.

My feelings are two sided, Complying and compromising, Everyday When I’m with the tide Nah, I’m never falling ‘Cause the moon is rising I’m on top, I’m never lying Government spying, identifying This is who you are ‘Cause your always buying Just save on ting and have a night in, yeah

‘Cause that's what you do You can't believe it but its the truth Trying to go out just me and you Now, i'm in the studio, in the booth Why can't you see that, All of this, You can't believe that Raising fears, Coronavirus, Trump and Biden, Telling me what to do - you’re not Simon!

Due to all of this I just sigh man. I just sigh man.