Home
A lot can happen in a few weeks. Just like you, I was busy living my life, settling into a completely new environment mentally and physically.
Lately I have been doing something along the lines of your post’s title: I’ve been starting over. In terms of my job, my location, my relationships. So many things have changed — and will change — that I can’t even keep up with it anymore.
Luckily you and I had a moment to meet between our travels but I still wish it was longer. Constant change sometimes keeps me detached from everything and everyone. That’s why, my word for this year will be home.
Why? Because I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about home during the past few months. What is home? What does it mean to me? Where is it? Is it something physical? Is it something you always carry with you? Can it be a person?
Maybe home is a feeling. Home can be a person. Home can be the land you own. Home is a place to be yourself in. Home is yourself. Home can be movement, music, writing, sunshine, sea, clouds in the sky...a spiritual or a physical space.
At the moment, I’m far away from Finland in many ways. Long distance, indeed. I’m in a place where people fight for their homes. Refuse to leave their homes. Homes that sometimes might have stayed in the family for hundreds of years. Homes built for family. Home is land. Home is walls. Home is making a living. Home is what you have built. What you own. Sometimes other people claim ownership to what you call home. And you resist.
I watch this resistance in awe. I’m always amazed by people’s ability to survive. The resilience. How come some people are willing to risk their well-being and life for their home and I feel — I’m afraid to say it — somewhat indifferent about the house I was born in? Privilege, there’s that word again. Freedom of choice. Such an important part of privilege. Freedom to watch over your home, to decide what to do with it — whether your home is a feeling, your family, your house, you land or something else.
In my previous job, I asked people from various backgrounds what does home mean to them. Turns out this question brings out similarities instead of differences. For most, home means a safe place. A place where you can be yourself. A place where you feel accepted. It means family. Familiarity. Continuity.
At the end of the day, we all just want to return home. This year, I’m trying to. In terms of myself, my mental health, my career, my emotions, my relations to others… At the moment I live in a place where you can take nothing for granted. Homes are controlled, occupied, demolished. Privacy is violated. Children sometimes wake up to a soldier pointing a gun at them in their own bedroom without a reason. Invasion of privacy, of safety, of family life — of home. None of us can always be home but each of us needs a place to return to.
Now, I’m lost. But when I see people fighting for their right to exist in their own land, it confirms how grateful I should be. I have a place to return to, I realize, a place to feel safe in. I feel safe by myself, because my privacy hasn’t been constantly violated. I can visit people’s violated homes and then return to my own safe space. It’s not fair, it never was, it never will be. What I can do is listen to the stories of those who have been violated but not defeated. I can define my own home and show it the respect it deserves.
I know we are writing long distance and you’ve also had your share of moving around in many ways. What does home mean to you?
