There’s no place like home.

When you meet a new person, they will ask you two things;

“What is your name”
and
“Where are you from?”

In other words, where do you call home? It is here that you have to make a decision. You can say your nationality; the country that you identify with. You can say the place where you grew up; the place that holds the most of your memories. You can say where you live; your current reality, your present. But is this where you would call home?

Sitting in an airport on the other side of the planet to the town I grew up in, I started to think about Home. What is a home? What makes a home a home? Why is my home different from your home? What does home mean to me? And what does home mean to you?

Home is the scent of gum trees, a magpie’s song; that quiet stillness as the sun rises and the world begins to wake up. Home is the taste of a mother’s cooking, the warmth of a bonfire, the purring of a cat. Home is the road, the street food, the hostels, and the airports. A well-worn pair of boots – that is also Home.

Alex – Adelaide, Australia.

Home,

What is it but a stepping stone,

Leaving it on a travel spree,

In the search of an existential apogee,

Waking up to see the world I syphon,

A figure from the past appear on the horizon,

Materializing is the old apple tree,

And now I know what means to be free.

Boyan – Sofia, Bulgaria.

Home is an abstract concept; it is not necessarily tied to a physical place. Rather, it is a combination of feelings, values and people. I personally associate “Home” with the feelings of comfort, belonging, safety, and love. These feelings are tied to the value of freedom and self-expression. The final qualification is a self-defined concept of family. Having loved ones around, with shared experiences, is the key to transforming a physical space into one’s Home.

Chantel – Toronto, Canada.

Home is the sound of my mom’s footsteps across the kitchen floor and the pots and pans bustling around the sink. Home is bickering with my brother over dinner, barging into his room and getting kicked out soon after. Home is sliding into my sheets at the end of the day and knowing I’ll always have a place and family to go back to.

Minyoung – Vancouver, Canada.

In 2013, I spent three and a half weeks in hospital. I’ll skip the gruesome details but know this; every single day felt like an eternity. All I wanted to do was leave that place, that awful place, and run away from the pain. There was only one place I wanted to be throughout that entire time; Home. When I was finally discharged and driven by my parents from the hospital that had been both my prison and my place-of-care to my house, I experienced what can only be described as pure elation. I finally saw it; my Home. In that moment, I knew what a Home was; it’s a place you feel distanced and protected from the dangers and realities of the outside world. If you feel that, then you are at Home.

Tutkin – Essex, England.

Home is the place you want to be the most after you have had a harsh motorcycle accident and are in a lot of pain. Usually, the people you want to be with the most will be there.

Hernan – Quito, Ecuador.

Home is a difficult word to define. Having moved abroad at the age of ten, and once again for university, I do not have one clear definition. What I do have, however, is a feeling. The places that I call Home make me feel safe and supported. At home, there’s always someone to call if you are in trouble, there’s always a safe space to go to when things get too much (and you always know what the best pub to go to is on any given night). At Home, it is the little things that make the ticking along so lovely. Most of all though, it is the people. Home is where the people who love you are and, so, people can have lots of Homes.

Laura – Amsterdam, Holland.

Home is wherever I am.

Iman – Shiraz, Iran.

For me, Home is less about having an established residence and more about myself; what is my sense of comfort regarding my environment. From Africa to Europe (and now Singapore), I have always felt at Home, regardless of who I was with or how long I stayed there. I would say that, perhaps, this feeling of comfort related to one’s Home is linked to an individual’s ability, or willingness, to adapt and assimilate into their environment.

Sunrise – Kigali, Rwanda.

Being a mixed race child – who hasn’t lived in any of the countries her parents belonged to – never gave me a good sense of what “Home” is. For me, I guess, Home is where I’m most comfortable and is where I am in that moment (it would also help if my parents were just a wee bit closer, instead of on the other side of the world).

Jennie – Glasgow, Scotland.

I can’t think of any real way to describe it. Home, as a place, is just there and is made out of whatever materials you can cobble together.

Annabel – Singapore.

I think Home is where the heart is. A house can be destroyed. A home will never be. Home is where you feel the most at ease and relaxed, and it might not be with your family; although, it usually is. To me, my friends are my family, and my family is my Home. They were the ones who were there for me when everyone left. Hence, when I’m with them I’m home.

Manfred – Singapore.

Home is safety, familiarity, and family. It is not fixed to my address but to the places I miss when I am away. Home is Stockholm; Home is the Farm; Home is my apartment; Home is NUS; Home is wherever my friends are.

Oskar – Jämtland, Sweden.

Home is where my family is. I have been traveling around the world my whole life and they are the ones I look for, wherever I was. So, traveling alone and living abroad for the first time this year was quite a challenge. After a while, however, it too began to feel like Home too. I became part of a new family with these strangers who were struggling in the same way. I guess, what really made it my Home was the familial connection, of genuinely caring for one another and the strong bonds that thus develop. With these bonds, I realized, along with them, I had managed to create a Home away from Home.

Prachi – San Diego, USA.

When I was little, my house had a frame that said “Home is where the heart is”; this is a short and sweet version of what Home means to me. Home isn’t a specific place. It is a person, or a group of people. It is a safety net in which I can let go of myself. Home means an escape from the rest of the world; it is happiness in the smallest of things.

Fatema – Texas, USA.

For me, my Home would only ever be truly appreciated when I left and returned to it. After my long adventure abroad, I will approach my street. For a moment, I will stand and see my Home through a stranger’s eyes – standard, common, and trivial. The brick walls and the glass windows of the building will stand insignificant amongst a hundred others. The cars and people will pass, not a care will be given about the place that they have missed. Then, I will look back at my house once more – this time with my own eyes. My house will stand defiant, significant against the copy-and-paste houses that surround it. It will be beautiful, nostalgic, comforting, accepting; and it will become my Home once more.

So, what does Home mean to you?