30DPC Day 15: Where is home …

15. Do you feel at home in your home? Is home a place for you? A book? A thing? A person? What would you want your home to be?

This is a really interesting question for me, because I spent my entire childhood moving between three different countries and never staying in that country for more than three years before having to get up and move again, new school, new friends, new culture. During that period of time in my life, home was definitely wherever my family was. And if it had to be a place, home was an airport and an airplane – the one thing consistent.

For me, home was never really a place. It was never really friends either, because it would be a while, during that time, before I got permanent friends. Possibly, home was the community of friends I had online on Fictionpress and Neopets when I was a child and young adult. But they were rarely consistent either.

It was honestly hard to say. I suppose home was also in the things I owned. Because those things were consistent. They were in the TV shows I watched and the books I read. So maybe home for me was in the constructed universes I created for myself.

Right now, it really is hard to tell, because I have actually been settled down in a place for a good eight years. Personally I don’t think I constitute a place as home any more, and I don’t think I ever will, because of the lack of permanence places have had in my mind throughout my life. I don’t think I can look at a geographically situated group of people and call them home. Because I never feel a part of them. I don’t feel like a particular nationality, or like a particular race because I grew up so geographically confused.

That’s probably also the reason why I find it so hard to write sometimes. Because where do I situate my characters if I were to write a fiction based on a real life place? My country is so adamant on writing that is somewhat nationalistic, that can speak for the people, but I refuse to write that way because I do not subscribe to the ideologies of the people – especially ones that are so confused (it’s hard to write this part without specificities).

So for me home was and will never be a place and its people. Sure, I can grow familiar and used to it, but I know my heart will never accept it. Regardless of how much patriotic crap is thrown at me. For me, the world has changed too much for patriotism to be overly influential.

I guess, home for me is my family members. That’s the closest I can get. Wherever they are, I am too. Home, sadly, has yet to be closest friends. Because, again, of the way I grew up, friends changed so much, and it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about them, and that I don’t keep in touch with them, but it is hard to say that a fixed group of friends is my anchor. Or something that can constitute home.

Home may be my community online. It may be the places I’ve curled up in online. A piece of home may very well be in this blog, if I keep writing consistently in it. Because there are parts of myself in this.

So, the first question has yet to be directly answered. ‘Do I feel at home in my home?’ – no, because it is not my flat, I don’t own it, it’s my parents, there are many things I want to change about it but it is not in my power. I want to move out. That’s a definite. I feel at home with my family though. I don’t feel at home in the country I’m in, though I feel comfortable and safe in it. I feel incredibly at home with my circle of friends that I’ve chosen.

Home for me is not a place, it is the people – close to me, my closest friends and family, not really in things, though they make me feel more at home.

And honestly I don’t know what I want home to be. I think I’ll feel more at home once I’m able to create the space I live in. I get to arrange the furniture they way I want to, I get to buy the furniture and have a certain design that I want, I get to freely exhibit all my books without inhibition (the books that are now hidden in boxes ’cause the flat I stay in is too small). I’m not exactly OCD but I’m incredibly particular about the way things are done and arranged and I get so annoyed at stupid little things around the house. I personally can’t wait to finally just breathe.

Right now I feel like I’m living in someone else’s house with my ‘home’.

It’s a sad thought, like a crab that’s outgrown its shell but has no other place to go. But that’s the reality. I guess I’ve just kept myself disillusioned for a long time.

Well, till next time,

cumuloq ❤

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