H is for… home

H is for… home

The idea of home has always been a tricky one for me. This is a recurring theme for me (I may be a little obsessed with this notion).

Here’s a list of the posts I’ve written about the idea of home:

Aliens Adrift in a New World

Where’s Home

Writing Love Letters (in which I wrote a love letter to a tree in Melbourne)

Big Moves

Then and Now

An Ode to Things and a Farewell

So, what constitutes home? Do I pick where I was born as home, even though I could never get citizenship there?

Do I pick my ethnicity, my cultural history as my marker of home?

Do I pick my citizenship of a nation as home, even though I often feel othered?

Do I pick where I currently live as home?

When we moved to the US nearly five years ago, thinking it was a permanent move, I tried very hard to foster a sense of home. We got involved with community, we participated in events, we threw ourselves into life there. And I spent the four years we lived there, woefully missing “home”. I pined for the sights, sounds, smells of Australia. I wrote letters to gum trees. There was a frog in my throat as I sang Waltzing Matilda. I scoured YouTube for recordings of magpies and kookaburras. I bought every stick and leaf of eucalyptus I could find and put them in every flower arrangement in my house. I know… ridiculous extremes.

I missed my family and friends, but I also missed the familiarity and ease of living in Australia. I missed the laid-back lifestyle, the laconic wit, the unexpected friendliness.

Since we’ve been back, I’ve felt calmer and more comfortable than I have in some time. Perhaps living closer to the ocean has helped, perhaps it’s simply a measure of being “home”.

What’s home for you? What makes where you’re living feel like home? What do you miss about home so much that it brings you to tears?

3 Comments on “H is for… home”

  1. I completely understand why this is a recurring theme for you, Asha. I’m always torn between the US and India whenever I’m confronted with “where’s home?”

  2. I also think a lot about the concept of “home”, and I’ve concluded that maybe some of us are just meant to be wanderers. I’m trying to make my peace with that, because most people I know think it is really weird. I think home is where you are at the moment, if you’re with people you love.

  3. Home for me was always my Grandparent’s house. It was comfortable, welcoming, and simply just home. The sounds of a train at night and cars through the day, the smells of upholstery and cooking, and a constant flow of conversation. My Grandparents are gone now and I miss everything about being home and I miss being able to go home as well. Great post, thanks for sharing.

    Stopping by from A to Z: M for Magic Mike

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