Reading other stories, I was shocked by the fact that although everyone’s story was different, there were still a lot of similarities.  What I found interesting was that quite a few people have trouble knowing where their home even is, whether it was because they moved around a lot or just don’t feel connected to a place that an outsider would view as their home.  But the what struck me most was the desire for a “home” read so strongly to me in other people’s stories.  Even though I have lived in the same house since I was born and my father has lived on the same street since he was born, my grandparents are all immigrants who came from Lithuania, Sweden, and Iceland.  Thus, even though I have a lot of roots in Langley, BC, when people ask me about my heritage, I say I am Icelandic or Scandinavian because that is where most of my roots are.  Yet, my last name (originally Deglau, but Canadian immigration/customs mistook it for “Deglan” and it never was corrected) is German because my Papa’s family were Germans who moved t0 Lithuania before WWI.  So even though my last name is German and I have lived in one place my entire life and see Langley as my home, I still feel like my other more important “home” is in Iceland.  I feel this way because my facial features come almost entirely from my Icelandic side.  At the same time, I have a much stronger connection to my Icelandic heritage because of all the stories my Grandma told me growing up about Iceland.  Thus, I feel like what is common between all our stories is the desire to have a “home” that is almost fictitious in a sense.  A place where everything is perfect and everyone we love is close.  Recently two of my brothers have moved away and I have realized how different home feels without them; because two people I love are no longer here.  So in a sense, reading other people’s stories has got me thinking that “home” has kind of a dream-like quality and is reminiscent of heaven.  Even as someone with no religious ties, I can somewhat understand the idea of heaven.  It is similar to “home” because although we all have somewhat different ideas of what is there, most of us want to go there.  I mean, who doesn’t want to go to heaven when it is advertised as having everyone we love who has passed, will house all of the people we have loved once they pass, and where there are no worries or pain?  Because of this, I believe that “home” is a lie.  Even though I have a home, it is by no means perfect and I still hope to find a better “home” for myself in the future.  I think our “home” is where we are right now and it could change tomorrow, but other than that a “home” is something that we strive for, but is something we will probably never achieve.  At then end of the day, I have never come across someone completely content where they are.  I don’t mean to be cynical, but rather feel like understanding this could only help us realize that because there is no such thing a “home,” we might as well live in the present and not be stuck trying to find something that isn’t there.  “Home” is wherever we are right now and wherever we have been and wherever we will go–we define our “home,” our “home” doesn’t define us.