There's no place like 'Home'

Growing up, you grow fond of the places you live. You cherish memories reflected in the character that overflows the rooms and halls of your home. But for those like myself, home has always been muddled, mixed, and inconsistent – not due to divorce but due to the lack of permanence.

The longest I have lived in one city is four years. I’ve had more bedrooms than years I have been on earth. I have never once seen a place or house as my home, going into every year believing my living, educational, and even social settings were only temporary. I never clung to people or places, and hardly put much effort into anything except school or dance, both of which I am not so sure are working out for me now.

From ages eight to thirteen, being the new kid at school was tiring, and I was forced to enjoy my own company rather than that of others. It was performative each time I walked into a new school where the ‘locals’ stared and whispered – I grew up on the outs and always moved before I made it in. I blame my attitude and the inconsistency, but as I lost touch with each place, my persona changed.

The constant changes made my younger self think she had to change, so I became a chameleon. I put on a persona for everyone but myself from kindergarten to my sophomore year of college. I’d change the way I do my hair, the way I speak, the way I dress, and essentially my entire personality based on the environment. Some days it’s still this way.

One might argue that I developed a skill that contributes to my individuality and is excellent for adult life and for gaining opportunities, but I disagree. I grow restless easily, always have to multitask, and struggle to find contentment between the different versions of myself that I created as they wrestle for control of my being. At times, I become a porcelain doll, made for my beholder – whoever I am interacting and engaging with at the moment. Still, after a while, when consistency arises, I begin to crack.

It was not until my early adult life that I realized this pattern. I learned to love the walls I built up, and the solitude of no one knowing who I was had become my safety net. So, I needed to get out of my comfort zone, and I did, moving to college three thousand miles away from “home.” I started over again, and for the first year, I let old habits continue, and I was unfulfilled.

I needed a change, and it would’ve been easy to blame my upbringing or the environment, so I forced myself to go back. Only this time was different, I let go of my walls. I allowed myself to flourish in my own way and to explore. This brief exploration of the city lasted only a semester, during which I met a boy, reintroduced who I am to myself, and found where home truly is: within.

Then, I went abroad. I continued to find home in myself, my hobbies, and my therapeutic moments despite being immersed in another country and culture. I enjoyed each moment, even though I had abandoned the city I had re-fallen in love with, said goodbye to the man I had just started to fall for, all my friends, and I did it all with no regrets.

I no longer feel envy growing from deep inside when others talk about returning to the home that’s all they’ve ever known. I don’t mind lacking a physical space to call my own. I don’t cling to my past; instead, I look toward who I am becoming. I am released from the emotional anchor in the shape of a house representing safety, belonging, identity, and roots. I’ve become a place of profound comfort where I can genuinely be authentic, allowing the comfort in myself to be a refuge from the outside world.

No matter where I am, I’ll have the privilege of always being home. My home has always been moving, living, and breathing, and there’s no place like it.