Where is Home? A Beautiful Paradox

It's one of the first questions any traveler is asked: "Where are you from?" Every time the same turmoil arises in my head, as though I were trying to find a suitable answer. Because the truth is, I don't really know where home is.

I have never traveled a lot in my early life. But even then, as a child, I remember the feelings of restlessness and a strong curiosity about new places.

As I grew older and started traveling alone, somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought maybe here I would find a place that felt like home. But wherever I went, I felt like a spectator looking out. I never belonged to any place unless it was my hometown, in Kerala, India, where I spent my childhood days in an ever-so-small village, where everyone was so familiar with each other and with everyone's name. I felt like a kid amidst a closely knit community where no one was left behind, even if I had physically left home to pursue a dream. I had a constant feeling of closeness, belonging, and attachment to that place.

The Paradox of Travel

Traveling was, in that sense, a double-edged blessing and a curse. On one hand, it opened my eyes to a million things around the world that I could never have imagined—cultures, languages, and ways of life unseen; on the other, it made me acutely sensitive to the same sense of displacement I was supposed to be attempting.

Every time I go somewhere new, I am struck by my ignorance of the world, and how much is out there still to be seen. Every time I leave a place, I think of how brief, how momentary, all my experiences there really were.

I remember walking through several pretty streets in Europe, and it felt as if the cities had so much energy. But at the same time that I walked through the city and saw people doing their everyday routines, I knew in my heart that I would never know what it actually meant to live there. I was always on the outside, peering in.

The Illusion of Home

I kept feeling that home was that place out there, a place with a geographic locale. If I could just find the right city, or town, or even village, in this grand, wide world, then I would feel that I belonged finally. But the more I traveled, the more I came to realize that home wasn't a place at all.

Home is a feeling or a sense, of being amongst loving and accepting people: persons who accept you just the way you are. Most of all, this is a sense of belonging, knowing you are part of something great—greater than yourself.

I've found a sense of home in unexpected places. I've found it in the kindness of absolute strangers, in the laughter of new friends, in the quiet moments of reflection while hiking in the mountains, and in the shared experiences of fellow travelers.

Always Searching for Home

As I think about the question of where is home, I'm reminded of the lyrics from the song 'To Build a Home' by The Cinematic Orchestra:

"This is a place where I don't feel alone

This is a place where I feel at home

'Cause, I built a home

For you For me"

Maybe the search for home is not about finding a physical place, but about discovering what truly matters to us and building a life around it. And in that sense, I am home wherever I go! I am building a home within myself and in the relationships I cultivate! So let's keep searching, keep exploring, and keep building our own homes, wherever we may go!