home

I have to constantly think about my definition of home. 

What a privilege it was to live so vastly and internationally. To experience the cultures, the food, the people. 

For the longest of time, my definition of home was never a physical place. When people ask me where I’m from, it’s honestly tough to say. Majority of my upbringing was in Singapore, but that was from the age of 12 to 18. 

Prior to that, I had lived and moved around to about 8 different homes. 2 different continents included. 

Looking back, my average “friendship”  before the age of 18 had only lasted about a year. With my family constantly moving and the kids I would go to school with, change was inevitable. The long lasting relationships I would have, a rarity. 

I think there is a beauty of the world my family had created, home was not a place, but a feeling. A feeling that was embedded with the parents, my brother, the people that were in my life. 

For the longest time, I was jealous of those who would say they had childhood friends, had memories in their town, traditions. 

As my experience in working with grief, the most painful transition has been losing a pillar of what I considered home. 

If what home to me was not a physical place, but the spirit of my family connected as one, how do you make sense of that. How does one move forward if there is no place you can dwell to; feel, the nostalgia, look back the memories. 

I just have to wander. I have to find what feels like home now.