When taken in the literal sense, a home is a place where one lives. It’s where you come back to every day, after school, work, or wherever you might have gone. You may be greeted by a family, a lover, or just a pet, but either way, a home is a house, a building that shelters you and keeps you safe. If you have a roof over your head, you’ve probably been told throughout your life that you should be thankful. After all, to even have this is something many dream of.
But in truth, a home can be made up of many more things. To have a home is one thing. To feel at home is another. To call somewhere home implies that there is a connection, a sense of belonging. And this doesn’t have to be to a place. You can feel at home with a person, or a variety of people. More often than not, these are the people you love, who love you, and who keep you sheltered and safe. Much like a house can, but also in ways a house cannot. One could even argue that we don’t feel connections to places. We feel connections to the memories we attach to them, to the people we associate them with. In the end, human beings are social creatures. Without others, we are nothing.
At a first, short glimpse into my own life, I may seem to have it all. I have a family that provides me with every one of my physical needs. I have a small, but tight-knit group of friends at school, who love me dearly, and whom I love in return. Outside that circle, I have a plethora of other good friends as well. I’m often seen smiling, laughing, and enjoying the company of others. To those that don’t personally know me, I come across as loud, overconfident even. Being seventeen and in my final year of high school, the majority of my life is s...
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...tment towards the way I’m treated has grown as well, to the point where I’ve become determined to distance myself from the people who are meant to love me the most. It’s clear to me now that my mother and I will never understand each other. She’s Vietnamese, and though I’m her flesh and blood, I am fully Australian. We’re two completely different people. So, my white-skinned, English speaking teachers are now my role models, and my non-Asian friends the closest thing I have to the idea of “family”. But while teachers are easy to talk to, and my friends provide me with company and laughs, when I need a safe place to retreat to, when I need a home, nobody’s there.
It is said that home is where the heart is, but I don’t find that to be true. I know where my heart is. I know the people that have a special place in it. But that doesn’t bring me any closer to home.
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