Home (English

By Anonymous

Home is a mysterious word. I don’t think anyone could agree on a single definition for it. Different people understand the word and interpret it in different ways. Is it the house you live in? The place where you feel the safest? The country you feel most connected to? Or is it just simply the country you live in?

The sky is bright blue, not a single cloud in sight. At 40,000 feet, flying over the Black Sea, I feel at peace, at rest from life’s troubles whilst quite literally sitting in an inescapable object. I’m flying back home, to Australia. However, mentioning the word home gives me a sense of unease.

Is Australia really my home?

My mind drifts back to the holiday I had just been on. The Netherlands was as sublime as ever, enticing me to give it all my attention. The crisp, cold winters fill me with joy and are always a highlight. The cold temperatures offer me a sense of contrast to the sluggish heat of the Australian summer. As the European sun rises, signalling the start of a new day, the work of the previous nights’ freezing temperatures is revealed. Once a vivid green, the grass now seems like a foreign, introduced species, full of a dull white layer of ice that reminds me of the spiderwebs in Australia. Smells rich and diverse fill the streets, ruffling my nose. Open curtains reveal families having breakfast, brightening up the whole street as the warm house lights beam onto the footpath. Tourists find it an intrusion of privacy— I find it lovely.

New Year’s Day is a celebration in itself - wishing strangers a happy new year, the smell of fireworks still fresh in the air, finishing the final celebratory foods before they become irrelevant. ‘Big Sale’ signs dangle in shops celebrating the start of the new year, bicycles flood the street, friends and family visit as many people as possible in one day, the feeling of happiness fills the air. While the temperature makes my body shiver, the sense of community gives me a powerful feeling of joy and happiness, making me feel at ease.

I feel at home, but what is home?

Memories from my early childhood echo in my mind. Whole streets decorated in orange, as the national football team competed against the world, it felt as if the whole country was part of the team, with occasional chants and angry shouts flooding onto the footpath. Juggling the football in the street with neighbours, scurrying to safety when a car approaches, occasionally throwing snowballs at them, hurrying behind the trees to hide. Collecting stickers at the supermarket, trading with friends, racing to finish the collection book first. Monthly family gatherings at the local Chinese buffet, constantly eating food with my cousins, our parents warning us not to get sick. All stolen away when, at five years old, I moved to Australia.

Curiously, I look up the definition for home; “the place or region where something is native or most common”. This resonates with me for a while, but can one definition evoke meaning to such a powerful word? One person’s home may be different from another’s. The word requires deep thoughts and self-reflection.

I’m flying back to Australia, all the way to the other side of the world. Separated by 16,000 kilometres, it is almost a world on its own. I moved there when I was five. I’ve spent more than half of my life there, yet an absent feeling fills the air. I struggle to have a connection. My place of birth, this country has had a big influence on my life. Waking up on a hot summer morning I always agonise. The house is already filled with humid hot air, there’s not a moment of relief. Fans working overtime to provide some sense of treatment, but to little avail. People trudge along the street, hoping to get some fresh air before the heat becomes too much. The sun beams bright, creating a sea of bright colours wherever you look. People flock to water sources, desperately searching for relief, the local shopping centre provides endless air conditioning – some may say there’s no better place to be. The cricket fills TV screens, while the Barbeque works endlessly to provide summer feasts. Australians will take advantage of summer in any way possible. Tourists will find it unbearable – I find it lovely.

Vividly, I remember my first day of school. There was no one I could call my friend. This country was still strangely unfamiliar to me. Yet today, I can truly laugh at myself when talking to my friends about that first day. My first club football game was played here, and I was filled with joy when I hit a six to achieve my first half century in the national sport, cricket. Wild summers will never escape me, layers of smoke engulfing everything, the whole community coming together to protect our land. Bike rides with friends were in the bush as opposed to the Dutch streets, weaving in and out of the giant gum trees, the smell of eucalyptus too strong for my nose. I feel a sense of luck when I say I live in Australia, but can I come to the conclusion that it is my home?

Your identity is often linked to place. One glance at a passport can reverberate into lasting stereotypes for someone you perhaps have never even met. In today’s hypervigilant world, our identity is perhaps as important as ever. Cautiously, I hold both my passports, almost creating a balance scale. Which one am I prouder of? Which one has a greater weight in my life? Both have had a tremendous impact, but does one prevail? I am often asked what country I am from. I instinctively, immediately reply with ‘The Netherlands’.

A sense of emptiness fills me when I think about what country I truly belong to. Instinctively, I know it’s not the country I live in.

‘Down Under’ it’s called, ‘The Great Southern Land’. Yet its charisma, so appealing to many, grapples with my inner self. I feel a lack of identity and I wonder, am I overthinking the concept of home? But no, our homes are more than a financial asset – they have an immeasurable emotional meaning. In Australia, never have I been able to share memorable moments with family or celebrate events with the whole country. But what about Skype or FaceTime? It isn’t the same. Creating memorable moments can’t be achieved with a simple call, it requires physical presence. What about Australia Day? People celebrate that, right? Yet somehow I don’t feel a connection. Not even remotely does it compare to Kings Day, during which I feel a real, strong connection. Celebrating the birthday of our king with the whole country is truly an amazing feeling, streets filled with orange, singing our anthem with pride while feasting on Dutch delights.

“Welcome to Sydney airport, we do hope you enjoyed your flight and to all Australian residents, welcome home”.

I feel that welcome, but am I home? I am physically back on Australian land, no longer on the stateless airplane, but my sense of identity is still unclear. I know that one day I might have to come to a decision between the two nations, but for now, I accept that I have two homes. Both the Netherlands and Australia have a deep place in my heart.

Home is a deeply under-considered word. Yes, you may relate it to a place of living, but the concept is far deeper. It’s not all about the physical aspect. One thing is for sure - whenever you feel at home, there is no better feeling possible.