Home Is Where I Am

Home is where I am. It’s the place I inhabit. Call me shallow—home moves with me. It’s really not that deep. We constantly project ourselves onto our surroundings and what I see around me becomes home to me. The cold is now home. Bright orange is home. Cora is home. Metz is home.

In the modern lexicon, the concept of “home” transcends traditional notions, becoming a dynamic and malleable construct. Our sense of home is a nuanced amalgamation of personal experiences and environmental interactions.

Coming to Metz for the First Year Semester Abroad program, I knew I was leaving home—as I knew it—behind. I come from Singapore, an island country and city-state in maritime Southeast Asia. Located one degree north of the equator, Singapore and its overwhelming greenery, astoundingly anal laws, expensive price tags, good food, hot weather, friendly neighbours, and rich classmates, was my home. Leaving Singapore, I left behind my friends and family, knowledge of the city, familiar local cuisine, the ability to speak the local language, having the local metro map memorised, and my ability to seamlessly fit in.

However, this experience encapsulates the constant flux of personal existence. In a world marked by perpetual movement, the notion of a stationary and fixed abode is challenged, leading to a more fluid understanding of the term “home”. The tether to one’s sense of home is not bound by geographical confines but, instead, a feeling of familiarity, knowledge of belonging, a repository of cherished memories, the warmth of shared experiences that transcend physical boundaries, the comfort of well-worn routines, the embrace of traditions passed down through generations, or the presence an ever-present companion.

For home is where the heart is

And my heart is anywhere you are

Anywhere you are is home

Home, home, home, home

“Home” is built on the intangible as much as it is from concrete or wood. It thrives on the shared understanding of unspoken connections and the nuances of a mother tongue, and it is imbued with the echoes of laughter and the solace found in the silent spaces between loved ones.

Here, I find new homes.

Finding “home” while travelling with friends

I see parts of me in every city I move through. As I see new places, I piece the seemingly disjoint parts of the world together, and my mental map of Europe expands with every trip that I go on during the weekends. Europe is a big maze. It’s designed to lose you in the twisty dark alleys. The bossy pigeons roaming the streets as if they owned them, no fear in their beady eyes. The inconsistent sunrises mirror my repeated snoozing of my alarm, and the unreliable sunsets mirror my early disappearance from social situations once the conversation runs dry. Do you finally miss me when I’m gone? The overgrown flowers invading the city like the thoughts polluting my brain when I try to focus. I really want some chocolate right now. Metro systems mirror my impatience. Be punctual. Rain choosing only to start the moment I step out of the door, pelting on me like a cathartic shower. Rinse, rise, repeat.

Between my wild weekend getaways away from the Georgia Tech-Europe campus, I find respite in the aggressively orange Lafayette dorms. I cook, I clean, I sleep, I work. I talk to friends, I do homework with friends, I shop with friends, I make bracelets with friends, I make dinner with friends.

Making salmon provençal

Eating the salmon provençal with Jae after LMC

Projecting a sense of safety is what keeps me sane. I seek comfort wherever I go. I need a feeling, people, a routine, a place—a home—to anchor me to this world. It’s not given to us by this world. If anything, the world just gets more and more chaotic; it’s the law of thermodynamics. But in this constant system of chaos, I see patterns, routines, happiness, and saty.

It helps me find “home” wherever I go.

Random street in Seville, Spain

This was a picture taken on my walk in Seville. We walked along a bridge, and the railing was adorned by magenta bougainvillea. I took a picture because the baby cat was adorable, and the bougainvillea reminded me of home.

In Singapore, bougainvillea graces almost every corner, adorning fences, balconies, and public spaces with its vibrant hues. The flowers, in shades ranging from deep purples to bright pinks, were my constant companion in Singapore because of its vibrant colours and ability to thrive in the tropical climate. As I framed the photograph, the juxtaposition of the Sevillian scene with the Singaporean memories became apparent. The narrow, cobbled pathways of Seville are a stark contrast to the wide, meticulously planned streets of Singapore, and the historic buildings and towers that lined each side of the street are older than Singapore itself.

However, the creeping bougainvillea flowers, climbing gracefully along the wrought-iron railing, brought a moment of unexpected nostalgia amid the foreign allure of Seville’s streets. In that instant, I couldn’t help but be transported back to the streets of Singapore, where bougainvillea is not just a flower but a ubiquitous part of the urban landscape. The stray cats, nestled against the backdrop of bougainvillea, epitomised the unexpected connections that travel brings. The allure of the exotic intertwined with the solace of the familiar—a connection that made sense only to me.

A typical overhead bridge in Singapore

The damn pigeons

The pavement, with the magenta bougainvillea and the adorable baby cat, created an intimate connection that was a portal to home, bringing unexpected delight and a lingering nostalgia. The photograph is a product of the blend of memories and the serendipity that defines travel. It serves as a reminder that even in a foreign land, traces of home can be discovered in unassuming, mundane, unphotographed corners.

In my not so humble opinion, the idea that the projection of oneself onto the surroundings is a fundamental aspect of defining home. In this paradigm, elements as diverse as weather conditions, urban landscapes, and personal connections take on the mantle of home. The biting cold, bright orange hues, the enigmatic Cora, and the metropolis of Metz all become integral components of my perceived home.

Home is where I am. Home is where I have been.

Returning to Singapore at the end of the semester, I return home. It is still home, albeit a different home, another piece in my puzzle. It is somewhere I know I belong. It is somewhere I feel safe. It is somewhere where people I love are. It is somewhere where the pieces of my mental-world-map-puzzle have already been tightly fit together. Nonetheless, I also leave behind the newly laid pieces in Metz. I leave behind the bus shuttle schedule that has been subconsciously ingrained in my mind, the familiar route to Georgia Tech-Europe that is paved with crunchy autumn leaves, the cosy dinners with friends in our kitchenettes, the bracelet-making sessions in the lounge that I look forward to every Monday, and the damn pigeons that are omnipresent.

 

The damn pigeons