They say home is where the heart is. I would tend to agree with that. I have been travelling around a lot lately, miles away from my home in New York. It has made me think though a lot about the definition of ‘home’ and where that really lies.
Australia, of course, is my home country and it is where my roots lie. I spent 26 years in Adelaide with my family, growing up, being educated and making and maintaining social networks. I have now been living in New York for just over six months and technically I could call it my home. It is where I sleep at night, cook my meals and house all my belongings. My family however (with the exception of my partner), are all still in Australia. Travelling back to Australia has made me reconsider where I call home. Being around my family and friends from Adelaide feels like a warm blanket around me. It is safe, comforting and welcoming. The streets are easy to navigate and I know the city humdrum like the back of my hand. Does this mean it is truly ‘home’? Or is home just where you reside? Certainly when I tell people I am coming back to Australia, I generally them I am travelling home.
I think, at least for the meantime, that Australia is my home. It is where my childhood was lived out and where the majority of my friends still reside. It is where my grandmother lives and my parents are. It is my culture and habits, my heritage and my grounding. Perhaps one day I can truly call New York my home, but for now it is just the city that I live in.