I have lived in Bunbury for 15years. My family has occupied the house in which I live for 10years. I have two sisters and two brothers. I am the middle child. I have always felt that my home has been an important place to me. I have countless memories held within these walls, and almost all of them are positive. Home to me, has always been the roof above my head. Recently though, when my elder sister moved out, I have been lost by what home truly means.
If I no longer feel a sense of home under my roof, then where is my home? I try to answer this by thinking about the places that are important to me. As I do this I come to the realization that there is no one particular location that screams of an overwhelming importance to me. I have a myriad list of locations that I have felt some form of emotional connection with. But does this mean that all these places are a home to me? Where is my home?
Important places to me are those that you don’t think you could live without. When I think of a soccer field, a dancing stage, or a couch to simply lie and have movie marathons on, I don’t think about the location, I think about the people involved in the memories created there. These places are important to me, not because they themselves are important, but because of the amazing memories I have experienced there. So if I were asked if I could live without these places, I would say no. But does that make them all a home to me? And if not, where is my home?
Maybe home truly is where the heart is. A phrase I have always thought to be corny, but now however I see some form of factual meaning behind. Home to me is all about that sense of security and love. Knowing that you are wanted. So does this feeling necessarily have to come from a particular location? Could it not be found simply by doing something, or being with someone? And if home can really not be about the walls around you, where is my home?
I try to think about when I’ve