Home, or something like it.

Posted by: | May 16, 2011 | 2 Comments

Home is where you hang your hat.  Home is where the heart is.  All these cliches tell us where home is, but since I don’t own a hat and my heart is firmly in my ribcage… this brings me to my question…

What is home? And can we ever go back?

Home.  It’s a four letter word with unlimited connotations.  It’s something people spend their lives searching for, and something people never have to look to find; it’s something we run from, and run to.

But what is home?

On one hand, home could be defined as the place we lay our head at down at night, but by that definition my home has been many places, and many of them have not felt like home.  But, if it’s not where I lay my head, what is this enigmatic word that defines so much?

There is always this perception that your house is your home.  I think it goes along the same line as home is where you hang your hat and lay your head… assuming those are both in the same dwelling.

I don’t think that your house, the location of your hat, or really where you lay your head is your home.  I think home is where you are happiest, and it can be at any moment.  I’ve felt at home in the strangest of places – downtown, on the beach, in my favourite places with my favourite people.

So, home isn’t a structure with four walls and a roof, home is a much more broad concept… to me anyways.

As far as going back… I don’t think we ever leave.

There is going back home in the general concept – the place where you lived and grew and left.  And really, there is no going back to that, at least to me.  I mean, you can go back to the actual physical place, but it’s never the same.  So much happened in one place, so many feelings, so many people coming and going, so many memories, so much nostalgia that it clouds the present and forces you to live in the past when you’re there.  It’s hard to walk the streets where you had your first kiss, first break up, first drink, your first anything and not look at it as anything but the canvas your life has already been painted on.

That is why it’s so important to move on.  Move onto new firsts, seconds and thirds.  Move onto new homes, new streets and new surroundings.

Maybe you can never physically go home, but if you carry home with you where ever you go, you never have to go back – you’re already there.


Comments

2 Comments so far

  1. Bryan on May 16, 2011 10:01 pm

    I didn’t know you had a blog.

    To me personally, I have a hard time defining home. People always ask me where home is and where do I come from and the answer is frankly never the same. I like the idea of calling Hong Kong – home, but I’m sick of that place and don’t feel like I belong there. I don’t like the ‘home/house’ that I live with my parents there as much as I like the city. I’m still searching for a place that I can home my own, perhaps one day it’ll be in New York City.

  2. Sarah on May 27, 2011 6:07 am

    “It’s hard to walk the streets where you had your first kiss, first break up, first drink, your first anything and not look at it as anything but the canvas your life has already been painted on.” so true. You are affected by those places because they stay in your memory, but u also leave something in them, something that u only can feel, because they aquire a particulat meaning to you. The place can be a part of something that affected you, something important to you. I would define “home” depending on the people rather than the place,these people that give you a sense of belonging. You feel home when u feel that u belong there, that you are part of it, and as you said in your love letter, family is not always defined by biological factors.

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