Home
What does the word “home” mean to you?
It’s a tough one, isn’t it? I’d always thought of home as the place you come from; the place where you were born or grew up. It was always a place, in my mind. Now, I am not so sure.
““You will never be completely at home again because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.” ”
“Home” means something different to each person, doesn’t it? For some, home is a person. One of my closest friends used the above quote during her wedding speech a few years ago. For her, home is her husband, the man she married. Wherever he is, she feels home. For others, it’s their heritage, their culture, their upbringing and values. And maybe there’s more.
I revisited the idea of “home” while listening to the rain fall onto the tin awning outside my window one evening recently. It was such a comforting sound because I remember it felt like “home”. And yet, I was lying in bed in my little rented studio apartment in Hong Kong. It got me thinking. Nostalgia. Melancholy. Songs that remind one of happy and sad moments. Prose that pierces one’s soul and makes one weep for words beautifully written.
Could “home” be the feeling of watching the wind blow the trees through the window of the spare bedroom at my parents’ house or falling asleep to the waves rolling onto the shore and crashing against the rocks in a familiar seaside cottage? Is home in the smell in the air after it has rained on a dusty farm road or the crackle of a newly lit wood fire on a winter evening?
Could it be staying in bed a little longer with a cup of tea while listening to the hustle bustle of the rest of the household getting on with the day? Or a long walk on the beach with the wind in your hair? Perhaps home is the sound of ice cubes falling into a water glass. Live acoustic tunes in a small, intimate space. Or hearing the friendly “Welcome home” from an immigration officer upon arrival in one’s home country. Could home be feelings of familiarity, safety, comfort, love?
““Where is home? Most of us are born with the answer – others have to sift through the pieces.””
For me, I think home sometimes feels like the tiny moments that remind me of - and transport me back to - a time when I was truly and innocently happy; like eating anchovy toast at the round table in my grandparents’ house or playing bat and ball as a toddler with my mum on a gravel-road driveway. Or searching for hours for sea animals in rock pools with my aunt on what is still my favourite beach?
Sometimes, it's those memories that feel like home, or the memories of the memories. Oktoberfest camping with your bestie and one-euro, one-minute showers. Views that make your soul leap. Singing rooms and rice wine with strangers in a small South Korean town. Extravagant Christmas dinners and dancing on a houseboat with friends who are family away from home. Meeting an extraordinary person in passing and knowing you’ll never see them again and being able to acknowledge the rare and brilliant moment they took your breath away or made you laugh until you cried. Slow dancing in the kitchen with someone you once loved.
Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash
When you think of home, should it make your heart ache in the best and the worst possible way? That’s for you to answer. I’m still searching.
““I may be walking in the streets of New York
But the dust on my boots and the rhythm of my feet and my heartbeat say Africa.” ”
It's true that some find home in a book, a person, family, faith. Some are home in their moments and memories. For others, home is a safe place or a childhood house.
But, if and when you find your “home”, whomever, wherever, whatever it may be, hold it close and never let go.
Sardinia Bay, Port Elizabeth, South Africa.
**Christmas photo by krakenimages
Tennis photo by John Fornander
