When somebody asks me where I come from or where my home is, I struggle. I am born in a place where I did not really grow up. I grew up in a place which I do not really identify with. I identify myself with a place where I studied for only two years. Then I found a second home on a different continent where I have a house. But now I study yet somewhere else where one day I intend to settle. So where do I come from? Where is my home? The person who asks usually either gets a simple answer that is a crass simplification. Or they get the long whole story but they have to sit through it for a long while.
Not long ago I read about someone who has spent her life in many more varying places. She has traveled a lot and lived all over the world. For her, too, it is difficult, if not impossible to name that one place that is home. But she said people like her find a home on the internet.
I find that very interesting and scary at the same time. I certainly prefer real life relationships over virtual ones, and even more real life places. However, recently, especially with involving myself in online communities and reaching out more, I realized I have become almost dangerously homey on the internet. I obviously keep in touch with people there. But I also have a storage there and some photos. My entire music collection is there as well as a post box. That sounds very much like a home.
On the other hand, I am too conservative to embrace it fully. I am actually scared and do not trust all these apps and programs that will rule your life and eat your information. Although I totally understand when people find their home on the internet, where they connect with people, upload their lives and create their identities.
Sometimes I long for that place where I spent my childhood and my heart becomes warm when I get back there after being away for long. Like my friend who always gets excited when she sees the top of the huge church while driving into her home town. Only for me, that place does not exist anymore, I do not have any reason to go back where I spent my childhood. My parents live somewhere else now.
So I abide by my friend, an experienced woman who said: It does not have to be a place. Home can also be a table. Or people.
It depends on your concept of home, not where you live or where you come from.
So what is home for you?