A couple of summers ago, Mary, Noelle, Danae and I had discussions of what is home. Mary has moved many times (Florida, Alaska, Minnesota, etc.). Authentic humor and connection cut the corners of cultural and language barrier as we met friends throughout Asia. It no longer made sense that "home" was deduced to the place you grew up. Home is more intimate than that.
"Well, how long do you have to be at a place to call it home?"
"Long enough until it feels like home."
In India, Sudha and Ramamurthy housed me for many months. Each morning, my ears were filled with morning prayers, classical Indian music, and ringing bells (as well as the coconut salesman who walked and announced his bicycle-delivered coconuts at 7am). The warmth of Sudha's breakfast preparations danced through the living room and allured me to the table. I uncrossed my legs and placed the Hindustan Times paper in the sun's spotlight on the wooden end table. In the evening after work and after the second shared meal of the day, we lounged in the living room to watch a Kannada drama or Big Boss (similar to Big Brother), while Sudha sat at the end of the couch to hear about her mother's, daughter's, sister's, or friend's play-by-play of the day. This was home.
Home. Home is people. Home is love. Home is connection, comfortable, laughter, details. Home is where the heart is. Home can be a physical place, but home can also be a few moments that only exist in a feeling or conversation. Home is timeless. Thanks to all of the incredible people (mentioned and unmentioned) who made me feel at home throughout this past year!
Thanks for reading.