14.07.17 | home

i’ve spent a lot of my life traveling, and for that i am eternally grateful. every year, my family likes to spend at least two months in another city, another country, another continent – immersed in a new culture. greeted by new people. exposed to new experiences – challenges, triumphs; sorrows, joys. and yet, home, to me, has – for the most part – been “home”: the city i grew up living in, the house i grew up playing in, the bedroom i grew up sleeping in. it wasn’t until i moved across the world a year ago that “home” became something else entirely – a feeling, perhaps. a feeling of comfort, familiarity, sentimentality. it wasn’t until i packed away my “home” into several cardboard boxes, gave away half of my belongings, started university in a brand new city, and lived by myself, on my own, in a little room, that home became more than just a place, a space, a country, but rather, an assortment of bits and pieces. friends, family, my mother’s home-cooked dinners. the beatles and john denver, hogwarts and middle earth, christmas – always christmas – and a warm cup of chamomile tea. a bowl of cereal, accompanied by the quiet purrs of a happy kitten; a quaint little town in a foreign country and even the simple, familiar “hello” from a fellow friend. so when people say “there’s no place like home”, i think i am starting to believe them. because “home”, to me, is a place, a feeling, of belonging. and i think for so long, that’s something that i struggled to look for. i thought i found it in the depths of an illness that almost killed me; i thought i found it in the sweet, sickly thoughts that brewed in the back of my mind. but that wasn’t home – no, that was, and remains, a prison. and it’s a strange to think that after all these years, i have finally returned to a place where (i think) i can start to feel at home again. and oh, what a beautiful feeling it is – to be at home. to belong. ⚓️ #contentment21

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