The Art of Being Home

‘Home’ is such a funny word. Home. It’s in the same category as weepy, isn’t it? Weepy. Home. They’re both very simple and familiar words and I’ve talked about both words this week, thus placing them in the same category.

Let’s continue on, shall we.

What is home? Is home dependent on the people we are surrounded by, the memories we have of the place, where we grew up, where we found ourselves, where we found others? I’m sure it’s possible to have many homes, but is one the homiest of all homes?

For instance, I know I have several homes. And when all my friends move out and own their own houses, will these houses be home to me, even if I don’t live there? Do you have to live in a place for it to be a home? Or again, is it dependent on the people that are there or the memories we have there?

The house that I grew up in is no longer my home. But if I were to return, and if all of those memories came back, would I feel at least a little bit of homeliness, even if it looked completely different? What is ‘home’ dependent on?

And do we decide our home? Or one day, will I casually look up at someone and think ‘yes, they are my home’?

I just googled it, and apparently the definition for home is: the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.

Well, Google, I have to disagree. Is home necessarily a permanent residence, or a residence at all? My current home is temporary. It’s where I live, but I’m moving in less than two months. I knew it would always be a temporary residence. And I have two homes; one six hours away where my biological family live and this home, where the people I surrounded myself with became a sort of family. I see both as home. Whenever I go on holidays to my biological family, I laugh a bit to myself (every time, too) because I’m leaving home to go home. That’s what it feels like.

Is it the people that make the home or the house itself? Or a mix of both? A house takes time to be a home, but does a home have to be a house? Now I’m just confusing myself.

Point is, I have found myself at home in different places, so take that Google; in yo’ face. I may not have lived with my biological family for two years, but where they are will always be my home. At the same time, where I am living now is my home, and some of the people here will always make me feel at home based on the memories I have with them.

Bizarre, really.

Sarah xx

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