"Emotion Travels."

Environmental effects on emotions is a strange phenomena. It makes complete logical sense, as different colors, lighting, temperatures, weather, and people or lack of people whom surround you are obvious sources of happiness and/or unhappiness, but it doesn't make it any less strange.

All of this comes from a simple and straight-forward observation I made, in which I realized that, at my fathers house, I am generally happier and more secure in myself in mind and spirit than I tend to be at my mothers. This is nothing for or against either of them, and probably has more to do with housing and all the small details of the two environments than anything else, although I'm sure the people play in to it too.

My mothers house is an old and large home that predates the First World War. It's got a generally new paint job, but regardless, there's this feeling of layers to the whole home, as if when you look at one layer of paint, you sense all the others that came before it.

The lighting is not modern at all, and is sporadic and slightly brooding at times, with the brooding atmosphere only being added too by the antique-look perpetuated by the walls, door frames, and furniture designed to fit the whole 'this-is-a-home-of-much-history' vibe of the place. The woefully and perpetually out-of-tune piano originally built sometime in the 19th century is also a strange addition to the overall furnishing.

It's the kind of house that, when you're alone in it for more than the day, you find yourself glancing away from dark corners on your way to bed, as to avoid incurring some frightening image of something you know will still be outside your bedroom door once you've closed it.

My dads place, although not quite a polar opposite, is indeed reverse in many ways to the atmosphere within my moms house. His home, as far as I know, barely even predates New Years 1970. Prior to being inhabited by us, it was owned by an Italian couple, with the husband, Luigi having wired the entire house via extension cords through the walls... which is apparently against the rules in the world of electricians. I can't say I know why, however, but I can easily assume.

Anyways, it has more of a cozy and small feeling to it, as if it's too compact to house any secret threats in dark corners or closed-off rooms. Its lighting, too, is less of a brooding nature, and leaves no corner unilluminated when the rooms main light is switched on.

There are many times when I feel completely at ease with both myself and the world at my moms house. Many times. Actually, I'd have to say the majority of the time I feel pretty content in that house. The same goes for my fathers place. The difference I'm trying to point out here is this: if things aren't going well in my life, I find that being at my moms house, and all those little details I described above, exacerbate the feelings of distress and insecurity. When I'm at my dads house, although those feelings will still be there, those little details coupled with the collective effect of being around people like my dad and step-mom, will ease them to a significant degree. Why exactly, I'm not entirely sure.

I wonder if there's a place on this Earth, in which I could feel blissful and secure in everything, despite everything. I'll be sure to keep an eye out for it on my future travels around the world.