HOME

“Home is where your heart is.”
That had long been my answer whenever the subject of home came up.
But what did I actually mean by that?

I could never relate much to a traditional attachment to one’s homeland. Quite the opposite. Something in me resisted it. We change, life changes, places change. The idea of being rooted in one particular place never quite fit for me.

Perhaps the word homeland gradually became negatively charged for me because it is so often appropriated by populist parties. And perhaps things are often being confused here: What is really home – and what is simply familiarity?

And what could home be for me if it isn’t the country where I was born?

What if home has no fixed place?

My husband is Belgian and moved to Austria, my country of birth, many years ago to be with me. He felt very comfortable here for many years and, I believe, at home too.

Later, we lived and worked together in the Philippines for a year and a half. That time was very intense for both of us. We grew very fond of the country and, above all, of its people. Even today, I feel something I would probably call a sense of home when I look back on that chapter of our lives.

Over time, we have felt increasingly drawn to our chosen home, Spain. We love the country, the climate, and the warmth and relaxed nature of its people. From the very beginning, we both felt extremely comfortable there and very soon at home.

We enjoy approaching other cultures and people with great curiosity and openness. We take pleasure in adopting rituals and traditions from other countries that resonate with us. And we enjoy immersing ourselves in the lives of the people who grew up there.

I am sure this is also easier for us because we have always had the privilege of deciding for ourselves where we want to live.

But not everyone can decide where they live. I think of my sister-in-law from Togo, who came to Belgium at a very young age. Not entirely by her own choice – life led her there. She arrived in a country that was completely unfamiliar to her at the time. Today, her children are growing up there. And so Belgium has long since become something like home for her too.

Our Afghan friends, too, had to leave their homeland as teenagers and flee to Austria. Some were able to stay and have since built lives here, married and started families. At first, I didn’t understand why it was so important for many of the young men who came to us back then to find a partner from their homeland. Many things would probably have been easier if they had married an Austrian woman. But perhaps their wish for an Afghan family also came from the longing to keep a piece of home alive.

Sometimes we are invited and get to enjoy wonderful Afghan food. It is served on a cloth spread out on the floor. And every time, I can feel the joy of our hosts when they realise how much we enjoy this little journey into a completely different world – right in the middle of Vienna.

At the same time, they know that their children will probably not continue these traditions in exactly the same way. One day, with their own families, they will probably sit at a table to eat – as is customary in the country where they grew up.

That, too, is home. It changes.

For me, home has long been much more than a geographical place. I find it in feelings, in nature and in my connections with people.

Every external home is temporary

But feelings and connections that give us a sense of home and support for a while are also subject to constant change.

Every form of home we find outside ourselves is temporary.
Every place.
Every family.
Every relationship.
Every familiar environment.

There have always been people in my life around whom I felt comfortable and safe. People with whom I could simply be myself and who gave me a sense of security.

Some of them are still part of my life today. Others are not. Relationships can change. And I am constantly changing too. So perhaps it is only natural that my relationships change as well.

Until recently, my childhood home was still a piece of home for me. Above all because my mother lived there. I returned there regularly. My mother died a few weeks ago. And with that, my connection to this place changed too. What now?

We can chase a home that belongs to the past. A childhood. A family as it once was. A city that has changed. A country. A relationship. And perhaps we very often confuse home with familiarity.

I have decided to let go and accept. I have beautiful memories to build on. Memories that can remain, even when the place itself is no longer the same.

And from these memories, I can build myself a new piece of home. A home that increasingly lies within me and remains there.

Can I be a home to myself?

Over the past few years, I have realised how important my inner home has become to me.

I am in the process of creating a place within myself where I can feel safe, secure and free at the same time. A place where I can unfold and grow.

I am slowly getting closer to that place, especially when I am completely honest with myself. The more authentic I become, the more deeply I feel a sense of security within myself.

When I no longer have to play a role in front of myself, I become calm. Then I feel safe. Perhaps this is where my inner home begins: in that place within me where I can simply be myself.

My values, too, are becoming increasingly important to me. They give me direction. And perhaps they, too, can be part of my inner home.

In nature and in silence, I currently find it particularly easy to arrive fully within myself. Perhaps nature reminds me that I, too, am part of life. It gives me a sense of belonging and peace and, time and again, manages to bring me home.

Routines can also give me a feeling of home, no matter where I am. My morning meditation, for example. Whether I am in Spain or Austria, my day begins in the same way. A small, familiar moment that I can take with me. That, too, gives me a feeling of home.

So for me, the question has long ceased to be: Where am I at home?
Instead, it has become: What gives me a sense of grounding, wherever I am?

Can home grow bigger?

Another reason why the idea of home is not entirely positive for me lies in the boundaries it so often creates. Does home really have to be something we protect by separating it from others? Or can home become bigger when we share it?

When I think of my Afghan friends and my sister-in-law, I like the idea that home does not have to disappear simply because people leave the place they once called home.

They bring a piece of it with them.
Their food.
Their rituals.
Their stories.
Their way of celebrating and living together.

And when they allow us to share in it, something interesting happens: Their home does not become any smaller. For a moment, it becomes a small part of ours too. That is how I imagine home.

Not as something we preserve by closing the door. But as something we preserve by sharing it with others.

I like the idea of home when it is not understood in national terms. When people from different backgrounds and cultures are allowed to keep their own roots while, at the same time, something shared can emerge.

Not either one or the other. But both.

A home without borders

From this, a new idea of home emerges for me. One that is no longer necessarily tied to a particular place. One that is allowed to change with me. One that can speak several languages. That can welcome different people and cultures. That can connect rituals from different countries.

A home that does not say: This is where you belong.
But rather: This is where you are welcome.

My vision, therefore, is a flexible home. A home without clear borders. Not homeless. Quite the opposite: a home that can become spacious enough to hold many things at once.

Austria can be part of it. Belgium. Spain. The Philippines. Togo and Afghanistan too. The people I love. Memories. Nature. Rituals. My values.

And, increasingly, perhaps simply: myself.

Because the more my outer life changes, the more important my inner home becomes to me – this place within me that I can take wherever I go.

Perhaps, in the end, this is what home is all about: Our external home is allowed to change. It is allowed to come and go. But the closer I get to my inner home, the less dependent I become on everything outside remaining the way it is.

Perhaps I no longer need to search for home.
Perhaps it has been there all along.
Within me.
A home that remains.

And in this lies my hope too: When people arrive more fully within themselves, they may feel less need to hold on so tightly or to separate themselves from others.

Those who know their own place do not necessarily have to defend it against others. Home can then grow and include others without anyone having to be afraid of losing their own.

LUMA – It begins in you.

Mini Exercise
Take a few quiet minutes and ask yourself:
What gives me the feeling of being at home – independent of any particular place?
What of that can I take with me wherever I go?
Pause for a moment.
Perhaps you will discover that part of your home has long been within you.

Reflection Question
Can I feel at home with myself, completely alone – without needing anything outside of me for that?