Over the last two weeks, every time someone asked me how I was doing, I told them I was homesick. Home is a word that I use way too often. It is one of those words that just make you feel good, feel warm. But I'm glad no one ever asks me where home is. I don't think I can give them one, straightforward answer. It's not that I can't think of any place to call home. It is just that there are too many places I could call home. Actually, I'm often confused about what home really means. This is something I often ponder upon. I recently came to know that this confusion is not just unique to me. Most third culture kids experience it. Third culture kids are people like me, who have grown in a different culture than their native one or their parents' culture. Our lives and memories are scattered in different places; different countries; amidst different people - in buildings that no longer stand, with a group of people that haven't met in a while, in countries that we cannot easily enter; and in cultures that we don't identify with. However, I don't think this is something unique only to third culture kids. Home might have different meanings for different people. It's that diverse of an idea. Maybe that's one of the reasons why I like the word so much.
The true beauty of the concept of home lies in the fact that the most unlikely of places can become so endearing and close to your heart that they become home. On 5th October 2000, when my mom and I joined my dad in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia where my dad lived and worked, I instantly knew that it’s not going to be that much fun. I left behind a large family, many cousins my age, a school where I was adored and the freedom to go outdoors to play whenever I wished; back in India. I found myself detesting the fact that as females, my mom and I were completely restricted to our home (in my case, also school) unless my dad could take us outdoors. However, time passed and I had spent the crucial adolescent years of my life in that country. I eventually found myself growing fond of the city, mostly because of the fact that some of my best memories were now made there. The last two wonderful years of high school, a bunch of great friends and loads of extra ordinary memories later, Jeddah was a different place for me. I realized that every street, every corner of Jeddah held memories for me, most of the people I knew lived there and (I didn’t admit to myself, but) the extravagant Arab life that was so evident all around, the brightly lit streets and the never-sleeping city life had begun to grow on me. I eventually moved to the US for college. When I left Jeddah that summer, knowing that I’m leaving my childhood behind forever, I was surprised at how heart wrenching the good bye was. In the years to come, every time I visited Jeddah, I felt like I’m home even though I refused to call anywhere but India, home. When I first arrived at the US, and on my first visit to my college campus, I'd doubted if I could ever feel at home there. Now that I've spent four years in the country and that the country has taught me to and seen me truly grow up, become independent, make my own decisions, make the transition from student to workingwoman and step into adulthood, I realize that without me noticing, this place has become home too. However, even though I've spent most of my life outside India, every time I fly back there, I feel like the place itself puts up a welcome party for me. That first glimpse of the Western Ghats (a mountain range) that stand guard at the entrance to my hometown Nagercoil, fills me with an emotion that I can't possibly put into words. It could be because India is the only place that I can return to, whenever I want without all the visa formalities that surround my trips to any other part of the world; it could be because that's where most of my family lives; or it could be because that's where I started my journey from. But, the joy that fills me when I enter Nagercoil is unparalleled.
Recently, I came across an interesting word, hiraeth. The dictionary defines it as “a homesickness for a home you cannot return to, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past." I like to believe that the word was created exclusively to explain my relationship with Jeddah, and the places of my childhood that are long gone. All this reflection led me to a simple realization that I'd always overlooked. It is the fact that home isn’t necessarily just one place. Home is not even just the place where your parents/family live and most importantly, home doesn't have to be the perfect place that has every possible comfort. Home is where a part of you lives, because it has seen you through your good and bad times; when you were at your best and when you were a mess; because it has shared your happiness with you and has given you some comfort in your sorrow; because it has seen you grow and mature; has imbibed a little bit of you in different walks of life; and loves you. Home is a place that will welcome you with warmth whenever you return, every time you return. Home is a place that will seem so familiar that the familiarity tugs at your heart, even if you’re visiting after ages and every physical thing about the place has changed. I had always had resentment at the fact that I hadn't lived in any place long enough to claim that my childhood/adolescent years lived there. But now I realize what a privilege and blessing it is to have bits and pieces of who I am and the memories that I so fondly cherish, scattered over different continents; almost like horcruxes from the Harry Potter series, objects that hold a part of your soul.
