Question of the week: What must a place have for you to consider it home?

Having lived in three different countries with vastly different cultures, I’ve often pondered on the idea of home. When I was younger, it was a place I wanted to escape. It was an anchor in the worst sense of the word – a way to keep me down, to prevent me from exploring, growing, and enriching my life. Now, as I’ve entered my third decade of existence, as I’ve spent the entirety of my twenties absorbing as much as I can wherever I go, I find myself looking for that anchor. I’ve met so many people and have tried so many versions of who I am. Often I feel like I’m drifting from one identity to another. Unfortunately this pursuit of breadth can only go on for so long. And now I crave depth.

A sunset in La Union, a renowned surf spot in the Philippines, where I felt a deep sense of community despite having only stayed for a month.

So now what is home? It’s a place where I don’t need to explain myself, where I don’t feel this constant tension between who I am and who I’m supposed to be. For a place to feel like home, I must have an active role within a community and if I were to leave, that absence would actually be felt.

Other than that, maybe a go-to cafe where I have a go-to order. Oh, and a bed that feels more comfortable than any other bed in the world – especially after a long holiday. When I feel the embrace of that initial plop, that’s when I know I’m home.