Home is Wherever You Make it
Home is Wherever You Make it
Finding gratitude in the bittersweet sensations of returning home after long-term travel.
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As the plane engine ignited a baby wailed.
My eyes were heavy and blurry, but I held back the tears.
Forcing against the hot air outside, the plane rattled and shook to match the chaos in my mind; sad to leave, excited to visit family and friends, scared to move on, relieved to go home.
After three years of living as an expat in Erbil, Kurdistan, I couldn’t wait to be back in Toronto to spend time with family and friends, yet leaving left an empty void in my heart at the same time.
While on that long flight from Erbil to Toronto, up in the air far from either city, I thought about what it meant to call a place home.
According to Merriam-Webster’s definition of the word, ‘home’ in this context could be described as the following:
one’s place of residence
the social unit formed by a family living together
a familiar or usual setting
a place of origin
Aside from number 4, I have made a ‘home’ many times.
I’m reminded of the house I lived in with my friends in India and the family I stayed with in San Juan Del Sur who took me in as their own.
My housemates in Erbil were without a doubt a social unit that I depended on every day. But in the end, in Toronto, there are my childhood friends and my family, and forever will be my ‘place of origin’.
It’s been a few weeks since being back in Toronto, and I’m still torn between the sadness of leaving my home in Erbil and the happiness of returning to my ‘origin’ home in Toronto.
I hear silence on the quiet neighborhood street in place of the familiar Fairouz song blasting from the speakers of trucks in Erbil selling propane refills. I see no carts on the side of the road stacked with cucumbers, pomegranates, and fresh dill.
I missed some products that came with the convenience of international supermarkets in Toronto, but that could never replace the smiles of the humble produce vendors around my neighborhood in Erbil.
Months before flying back to Toronto I videoed in on a call with my best friend as she tried on wedding dresses. When we finished the call, I burst into tears, frustrated with how far I was from her, and how I was missing these kinds of milestones in her life.
Though we might always have a definite place of origin, the number of places we feel at home isn’t limited to a single location.
I’ve felt at home in Erbil, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with my friends, crunching on sunflower seeds. Cuddled up on the couch with our adopted dog in my mother’s house in East York, I’m home too.
Living as an expat teaches us many things—to embrace new cultures, to be open-minded, to be flexible—but this time it’s taught me that home is the environment we create around ourselves.
The people we work and spend time with, the cafés, parks, or restaurants we hang out in, and the activities we dedicate our spare time to are all part of what makes us feel comfortable and thus at ‘home’. Wherever we go, it’s possible to make a home.
Leaving Erbil has been a reminder of the impermanence in life, which is both a blessing and a curse. No painful circumstance is eternal, whether it be a difficult job or a painful relationship. Of course, on the other hand, moments of joy and bliss do not last forever either.
In the past three years, I’ve traveled to numerous other countries around the Middle East and within Iraq and Kurdistan. I’ve lived through earthquakes, visited the pyramids in Giza (twice!), and shared uncountable fits of laughter leading to lasting friendships.
Even though it’s painful to be away from home sometimes, I find comfort in the solid foundation of friends and family back in Toronto, who will always occupy a special place in my heart, no matter how many other places in the world I end up making a home in in the future.
This year more than ever, I’ve become even more grateful for the time I get to spend with people I love while remaining thankful for the magical opportunities that come with living abroad.
When I walk my mom’s dog in the early evening, the clicking of his nails on the pavement sounds perfectly familiar, yet I notice a few more of the whiskers on his muzzle have gone white since the last time I saw him.
A good friend of mine who also lives as an expat summed up the feeling of returning home quite nicely:
I know the feeling. It’s like you’ve been away hardly any time at all, but at the same time, you also know you’ve been away for ages.
Wherever you choose to go, no matter how far or near to the home you left behind, I hope you embrace the possibilities of the future, and never forget the beauty of the past.
Much love,
Dee
If you live abroad as an expat and share the same feelings, leave a comment!
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