On home

Taken in St. Andrews.

I’ve lived in five different places over the last four years. There’s a longing I carry for stillness, for somewhere to settle. A home is more than the space your body occupies. It’s people. It’s your local shops. It’s knowing which bus takes you where, which road leads where. A home is an anchor point for everything else. A home is your identity.

I make a point of bringing people together in the places I live. There’s a quiet kindness in sharing your space, cooking for others, being with them. That, too, is what makes a home.

Sometimes, I dream of living in a house with my closest friends. A home can be a container for community. Ideas bubble up in good company. You leave traces on each other’s minds. There’s nothing quite like a house full of friends living in harmony. A home is just another word for belonging.

I’m proud of the resilience I’ve shown through all the uprootings. I remember dragging two suitcases and more up St Michael’s Hill. The trains, the buses, the friends who helped carry the load. My parents don’t live near me. I don’t drive. Doing it over and over. That story isn’t just mine; it’s familiar to many.

My possessions are scattered. I rely on good friends to store things for me, Jack, Charmaine, Lili, Elizabeth, Robert, I am indebted to you. Still, I dream of a place that’s mine, one spot to gather everything I own. A home is a place to store the tangible.

Yet, in the meantime, I’m lucky. I can call many places home. There’s a thrill in starting fresh: meeting new people, exploring new cities. New ideas follow. Maybe a home is just the starting point, a base for exploration. What is there to do nearby? What does my hobby look like here? A home, then, is a vehicle for discovery.

Or maybe I’ve got it wrong. Maybe a home is simply the physical, pictures on the walls, food in the fridge, sleep, shelter, routine. You feel the walls, notice the colors. Maybe a home is just the place you’re in.

But even that is fragile. Physical spaces burn. They collapse. You can lose everything. If a home is only a structure, it’s always waiting to be taken from you.

So, perhaps, a home has to be something else. I wonder what.