Home

When I was young, I spent a lot of time trying to understand why people ended up living where they did. 

It was always raining when we went to visit my Aunty. I have a clear picture in my mind of my face pressed up against the car window, watching a grey and gloomy city suburb roll past. I remember being so confused as to why she would have chosen to live there. I didn't understand things like jobs or University or things like that. To me, she had picked that place and I really couldn't see a good reason why. 

I actually lived in panic for a year or so that I would have no idea what town to pick when I was old enough to make the choice. I had decided that when you were old enough, someone gave you a list of all the places in the UK and you had to choose something from that. I was terrified I would be limited to the places I had been to, because picking a place I had never visited before wasn’t even a possibility (I'd heard of a place called Hull and apparently everyone hated it so I definitely wasn't going to take that risk). 

As I grew older, I began to realise that your job largely dictates where you live - especially if you have a job that’s only really catered for in specific places (I’m looking at you, future career choice). Obviously it’s not the only choice but for me, it will be the main one. 

Then I came to New Zealand and realised that place has a much bigger influence than I had ever truly appreciated. 

Over the last 3 and a half months, I have felt more homesick for the UK than I have ever felt in my life. We are constantly asked the question “Would you live in New Zealand?” and again and again the answer is always, no. We love it here don’t get me wrong (I am currently writing this in Queenstown and those mountains don’t even look real) but it’s like Tom says: home is home. 

I’ve never missed a place before. Whenever I go away, or if I was in/away from University, it was always the people I missed. I would miss their company, our little routines/traditions, seeing their faces. But I never missed the place itself, only ever the people who filled it. 

Until New Zealand. 

It took about 6 weeks before it really hit me. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say it took 6 weeks for me to figure it out. To realise that as well as missing my family and my friends, I was missing my country as well. 

It was more than missing home comforts. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I miss those too. My double bed is so comfy I have to actively not think of it so that the hostel beds are still bearable. I miss the luxury of having a bath, having a bedroom that doesn’t have 5-7 strangers sleeping in it, and a kitchen that doesn’t require a label on the food to stop it being thrown away/eaten by someone else. 

It’s something a bit bigger than that. 

I miss the smell of cold winter mornings, and the way it fills up your lungs. I miss the familiarity of supermarkets, and knowing which brands to trust and where to find everything. I miss the roads with hedges on the side, and fields in the distance. I miss having favourite places. 

I miss cold winter days, and cosy winter evenings. I miss crisp autumn walks to the shop. I miss seeing landscapes I recognise, and roads I know every detail of. I miss village pubs with steamy windows and laughter that bursts through the door. 

I miss knowing what radio station to tune to. I miss TV presenters I know and like. I miss being surrounded by people who understand my humour, and who make jokes that I can laugh at. 

I miss the feeling of being home. Of belonging in a place, and wanting to stay there. 

I came to the other side of the world seeking answers, and I learnt that I am so glad I booked return flights home. Moving from place to place, seeing all these new cities and towns and views and roads and people, I’m beginning to understand what it means to actually call somewhere home. What it means to want to call somewhere home. 

It isn’t just about where you go to work, and it’s not even just about where you find those you love. 

There is a part to it that’s simply about the place itself, and your connection to it. 

It really is as simple as Tom says it is. 

Home is home.