Lately I have been thinking a lot about home. What is home, how is it defined?
Wikipedia states that it is a place of residence or refuge, a building where a family store personal property in.
In the past two years I have lived in 3 different countries and 6 different houses. Did I consider all of them my home? In some ways yes, but in others no.
In German a home is called “zu hause” (at house) but past experience have taught me that the walls we have around us when we sleep at night, doesn’t necessarily make a home. A house can be could and unwelcoming. Like an institution, which is also often labeled a home.
When I live abroad I call Denmark my home, but I also call my current place of residence my home when I am in Denmark.
I still consider my parent’s home, my home. The reason is that it is where I grew up. It is interesting to think about how I would feel if they moved to another place. Would I still consider the new place my home? My relations to my parents would of cause transfer into this new place, so in that sense yes. But there would be no recollection of home in this place.
Home often has to do with familiarity, but yet a new and unknown place can feel like home the very first time it is presented to you. This is what I felt the first time I visited Berlin. I instantly felt a connection to the city. Why I have this connection with Berlin and not other cities will remain a mystery, somehow like falling in love. But my intuition told me, that this was the right place to be, and it didn’t fail.
For me home is a feeling of belonging. Home is to feel at ease, rewind and be myself. Home is deeply tied together with feelings. It is personal and can it that sense really be anything. To me home is the people I love, my belongings, the boxes stuffed full of memories in the form of journals, pictures videos, etc. Home is where I feel relaxed being myself but also in company of others. Home is a crucial thing for me, so I am able to survive when I am not at home.