Wife-house vs. housewife - Ivana Ognjanovac

At home, my dad was always more of a homebody. My mum lived for adventure. She seems restless to me when she must stay at one place for a longer period of time. I guess this is where the supposed mistake occurred. However, I only understand that today.

When I was seven years old, after the first in a series of relocations, I vowed to draw houses. I have been told that I depicted them through circular ground plans. I split them up into rooms, marked the doors and windows on them, drew furniture in distorted perspective, and then placed future household members in the marked rooms by writing out their names in large capital letters. Hence, I was able to place everybody I cared for into a single house in my imaginary future.

Today, I am no longer interested in household members. All that matters to me is that the house is female. Not out of a particular belief, but only because then, it can be me!

It is not natural that the daughter of a constructor turns out to be a tenant. I say this to everybody who asks me why I am not a bit “softer,” a bit more “feminine.” In my story, the woman is not a patient, feathery hen sitting on eggs, a seductive female swan that captures attention, and not a dangerous, territorial lioness. She is more like a snail. She is her own house.