What it means to return home

Abby Han
Abby Han
Aug 24, 2017 · 7 min read

It is almost dawning on the one year mark since I relocated to Singapore. I still struggle to believe that currently, for most of the year, I am living in Asia instead of America, a place where I have comfortably known for the past 8.5 years. Nevertheless, I don’t feel at ‘home’ in America, and neither do I feel at ‘home’ in Singapore. The notion of home, to say the least, has been very elusive.

This weekend, I had strangers in my house where I mused out loud about the notion of what it means to balik kampong: ‘to return home’. The past few months in Singapore has been nothing short of difficult and trying — an honest wrestle with denying the imaginary reality that ‘the grass is greener on the other side’. For it is not, and the conflict lies within me, not outside of me. Contentment is a battle to be fought everyday, on the inside, not on the frontiers of uncontrollable circumstances, because sometimes we do not choose the circumstances we find ourselves in.

When they filled my living room

Finding an anchor in unexpected circumstances

In a stroke of unexpected circumstances, I found myself in Singapore the last 11 months. Beginning on a road to some sort of discovery journey in May and working alongside theater practitioner, Ian Loy, I truly wanted to find out what it meant to balik kampong. I guess I began where I am most comfortable: my studio practice. A site where I’ve learned to contend with the understanding of how the larger culture and history have come to bear on the family, lesser recorded histories of women in the kitchen and at the dining table and food as a medium to talk about politics, history and culture. For me, there is no separation between art and life. They are closely intertwined and life in the public sphere is closely linked to life in the home. Perhaps, it is easy to live a double life, but I often think, how and why would someone spend extra energy doing that? It is extremely exhausting and often times I find more comfort in consistency rather than trying to always project a different image publicly. If you are like me then, you’d champion, albeit sometimes failing, wearing heart on sleeve as a daily motto, behind closed doors or with doors wide open, willingly embracing all the pros and cons of that catchphrase. I believe that the stories shaped in the comforts of our home is the catalyst and bedrock for our life in the public sphere.

Still from a performance video I made inspired by my grandmother’s cake recipes.

Community, generosity & history

I went thereafter to explore the concept of community, the act of gathering around the table and the understanding of radical generosity. All these things deeply imbued within me during the last 8 years of living in America. I learned and I understood generosity because of the individuals who were radically generous with me. I think that you don’t really know what generosity means unless you’ve been dealt with generously. (Generosity here does not only reference money, but also being generous in spirit, time, etc.) I’ve also humbly learned in those 8 years that I did not have to be in a position of power, or to possess of much to be generous towards others. If I had time (something money could not buy) or if I had money, or if I just had emotional energy, giving of all those things that would cost me something is a practice of generosity. It is a small gesture in the larger scheme of things when I say that I’ve sorely missed the nights in Los Angeles when I’ve had people in my small little apartment in North Hollywood for food, wine and conversations. Those were the days. Those days taught me how to cook for the masses, open the door to my home and heart unabashedly and to welcome all — stranger or friend — at the table. I miss them fondly, and I miss my community all the more.

Réunion de dames, Abraham Bosse, 17th century. I love the idea of these female-only salons held in Paris.

Desiring to root all that I’ve learned overseas to the geographic location of Singapore is difficult, to say the least. Singapore is really a strange place. When a friend of mine knew that I was participating in Open Homes, she texted me and let me know that my house is probably the only home she has been in, outside of her own, where she’s enjoyed a home cooked meal, by a friend. That surprised me. Perhaps I had been so used to always going over to other people’s homes for tea or a meal or having people over all the time, that not going or not opening my own doors seem strange, alien even. And even though I live with my parents now, I decided that my house can be a starting point. This was inspired initially by my own thoughts about spaces within the home and my contention that women’s contributions to history sometimes tend to be that of embodied knowledge — a type of knowledge passed on from body to body, often ephemeral and unrecorded. Whereas, History, with a capital ‘H’, the version of cultural stories that take front and center stage, seem to often be associated with males, or with accounts in the public square. I think history, with a small ‘h’, the ones made up of personal accounts and narratives add flavor to History, and sometimes it challenges the status quo which is certainly not a bad thing at all.

So here I am and this is where I stand armed with a small collection of recipes inherited from my maternal grandmother. An inheritance money cannot buy. A written record and personal archive, typewritten and photocopied with little scribbles and drawings here and there. Inviting me into a world of history I couldn’t have otherwise learned from the history or social studies textbooks afforded to me when I was in school. And, the best part of it all, is that these objects bear witness to a time when women gathered together in the kitchen or around a dining room table figuring out how to use the resources available to them during their time to make the most exquisite of cakes. What a wonderful community! I tried to recreate a similar setting when I invited the guests in my home to pipe with and for each other, cream puffs that I made. It is a delightful scene — happy strangers in my dining room piping cream puffs—this memory will be etched in my mind for a long time.

Love this scene of people piping cream puffs in my dining room!

Generosity is a stream that never runs dry

At the end of the SIFA performance, I received so many ‘ thank you’-s. Thank you for opening your home, thank you for sharing your grandmother’s recipe, thank you for sharing your story… and the like. But, I feel like I’ve gained more than I gave in preparation for this and at the actual event. That is what generosity is like; the economy associated with a generous heart is unlike the economy we live in. You cannot out give generosity for it is a strange magic: the more you give, the more you receive. Just like generosity’s cousin, gratefulness. It is hard to be irritable when you learn how to give thanks for even the smallest things in life.

Its a strange thing when people enter your home as strangers but leave as friends :)

At the end of it all, I still think that balik kampong, the act of returning home is really an act of moving forward. Playing on the double meaning of the word ‘return’, within the context of community and hospitality, I’ve learned to take that word to really mean, to yield, or to make. To make or to create for myself again what ‘home’ really means and I’ve come to find that ‘home’ isn’t always related to a physical geography or life circumstance, but rather, a community of people to whom you intentionally associate yourself with and learn to give freely to, with no expectations. A community of like-minded individuals striving for a common goal or a community of people gathered to participate in a common activity. Safe to say that ever since I’ve been back on this side of the world, I’ve been part of communities that do both, and for that I am deeply grateful. For truly, it is through being in community with others, that I’ve learned how generosity is like a stream that never runs dry. It soothes both the thirst of the receiver and the giver.


What does home and community look like for you? Share your thoughts, I’d love to hear it.

)

Abby Han

Written by

Abby Han

artist / i believe that loving people means inviting them unabashedly to the table and feeding their stomachs and soul

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade