A couple of weeks back I was hanging out with a friend out of the city. With fatigue of the day I exclamied, “I can’t wait to go home.” To which she replied, “where?” This question was logical, it needed a more precise answer. Where? My apartment? Back to your city? Your country? Where? Which got me thinking…what really Is home?
You can’t tell where my home Is by looking at me. It isn’t reflected in my physique, the languages I speak, my accent or my overall apparence. But I have come to learn that the meaning of home changes through the course of a life.
Robert Frost once said, “Home is the place where,when you have to go there,they have to take you in.” By Wikipedia, home is a dwelling place used as residence. For King, home is the place he forgets worries of tomorrow. And By virtue of the most common answer presented globally, home is where the heart is. A simple old question with a thousand answers.
But how does one define home- is it where you are from? Where you are based? Where you were born? Where you were raised? Where you spent a number of years tied with a life time of memories? Or a geographical locations? Some people are lucky enough to fit all this in one answer.
For the most part,home for me is 17 Iris. It is where I learnt of Don William/ Dolly Parton and eventually slipping in love with country music. It is where I learnt that dancing was in my blood and reading was something mother wanted me to do.Home is trying to murder my sibling one minute and saving their life the next.
If i expand my definition of home, home becomes “broken-hill”. Now this is where i started learning myself, discovering. This is where I learnt that reading was not something mother wanted me to do, but rather Something I enjoyed doing .This is where my teenage stories lay. Home is where I would rather be,come Christmas,Easter & Thanksgiving.
As the tale goes, I had to leave “home” for my new home, sunny SouthAfrica. In this home i learnt a new language,a new way of life. How to survive,the importance of good work ethic and i grow a thick skin.I learnt the true value of kindness.
In this place I had a knife to my neck. I learnt that sometimes people treat you differently because you are rooted different. I learnt that wanting to believe the best in others doesn’t make them good. In this very place, I meet some of the nicest people I know and made life time friendships.
With the ocean breeze, palm trees and sea air,i learnt that sunsets at the beach would always be my happy place. Home is my happy place.
Or maybe, home is the place I learnt how to ride a bicycle on the streets of a quite neighborhood. In this case, situated on the edge of the Kalahari desert, home is Mahalapye, Bostwana.
Studying abroad offers another change to the perspective of home. When I first got here, the initial culture shock and deep language barrier was enough to make me run back “home”. But now that I have settled, I see beauty around and find small victories when the locals understand me when I speak.
This is the place I fell in love with painting.This is the place I am becoming,still growing. Am still learning about life. Home is Shenyang.
But like I said, home, an old simple question with a thousand answers. Especially for me
Home is with the happiest fun sisters who shower me with nothing but laughter and love,and tender and naughty “good mornings” from Fidèle. Home is the Lufungulas.
Home is so much more than just a geographical location. It’s a feeling. It’s the people you meet, the feeling of home you leave in the hearts you touch. It’s the roads you leave and the ones you discover. The memories You bless others and yourself. Home is not so much where your heart is but what is in your heart.
Original Author: Je_m_appelle_dre