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I have been travelling for the better part of last month and I had a lot of time on my hands to think about important matters, so I did what any responsible being would do and I utilized my time properly and thought things through. #deluded. Let’s pretend, shall we?


A little background :

My husband and I are newlyweds, which means we’ve spent countless nights talking about the future, our hopes and dreams, what we want to do and where we want to live, how many dogs I want and how much dog shit he is willing to clean up ( it’s a delicate conversation) etc, etc. We come to decisions, we make plans and we call it a night.

Then we wake up in the morning and ask each other what we had decided. #timewellspent #ialwaysincreasethepuppies #noshame


Back to the present :

All that travelling in and out of airports brought back thoughts and emotions that were lurking just below the surface, waiting for the proper time to pop out.

Which leads me to my question. How does one define home? What is home to a person? The feelings it evokes? An actual place or is it more existential? Or is it more of a known versus unknown therefore I am more comfortable and not in flight or fight mode?

How do you decide what home is? Or where it is?

That last question is the one that has been bothering me the most. I’m a little old lady in the sense that I believe that ‘Home is where the heart is.’ I’ve always believed that. But that has recently been called into question.

Due to unforeseen circumstances (don’t freak, a wedding! Yay!) my husband and I have had to endure a month long parting due to his lack of nonchalance for his job. Yes. It was all his fault. He could have quit. #whatever

Anyway, given that we are newlyweds, my heart is clearly where he is, so therefore that is where my home is. End of story. But that isn’t what happened.

I went back to the place where I was born and grew up, spent most of my formative years and is the setting for all of my happy memories. And I got confused. What was happening? From the minute the plane touched down, I felt a deep sense of homecoming. It was like I had never left ( I haven’t lived there for more than a few months in over a decade) everything was new but oh so old and familiar. A few stores had moved here and there, and my favourite bagel place closed, but other than that, everything was the same. I was home.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m equally happy living where I am now. But it didn’t answer the questions I was asking myself.


Where do you feel at home?


Is it the house you live in?

The community you are a part of?

The country you live in?



When do you truly feel at home?

Is it when a particular scent in the air triggers wonderful memories?

Or when your plane has landed and your phone connects to the network and you get signal?

Is it when you hear a particular accent and you get all happy and start grinning because you know they are from ‘home’?

Or when you are in a foreign country and you start talking in your native tongue to your family and no one understands you? Like why is that so much fun?!


I didn’t have answers to any of those questions, and they kept swirling around in my head until one fine day.


Warning - I get sappy.

I was standing in another airport, waiting to board yet again when I came across this quote.

‘Everything is restless until it comes home.’

I didn’t truly understand that quote until I had exited off another plane and saw my husband. Now I get it. After a month away from job and security loving hubby, I didn’t even realize I was restless until I was in his arms and I felt peace descend.

It made me realize that for right now, in my world, home is a person and he is my home. Wherever he goes, I go. That is my home.

So for all the questions I have, for right now, that is the only answer that satisfies me.

‘Home is where the heart is.'


I was right all along.

I'm home.


~ Rumi

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