2007-05-14 Where Is Home?

I remember my first week at the university. I was still living with my parents and commuted one hour every morning. One day I sat in the cafeteria, stared at the concrete walls and was sure that I would never like it. How could one like such a butt-ugly place? Well, time went on, I met very interesting people and before I knew, the place was my second home. Sure it was still butt-ugly, but that didn't matter anymore. I've spent four and a half exciting years there, and I occasionally catch myself reminiscing.
One year ago, when I moved to the place I'm living now, it felt a little like that. My flat is far from being butt-ugly (in fact I really like it and it's the one thing that I would love take with me), but the point is, that I've grown attached to it. I'd even go so far and call it home. When I visited my parents last weekend, I thought a lot about this. Where is home?
While you're a kid, this question is easy to answer. Home is where your parents live. But sooner or later you're going to move out and find a place of your own. This place will then be your new home. Kind of. Given a reasonable normal childhood, no place is ever going to be quite like your first home, but if you're lucky it may be close.

Now that I'm slowly starting to archive/sell/mothball/throw away stuff (and a hell of a lot of stuff it has become in only 27 years), I'm thinking if maybe home is simply where my belongings are hoarded. But no, that's too simple. Maybe home is the place where one is happy. Yes, that must be it. I sure hope so, because then I intend to make New Zealand my new home. Despite the roving bands of hobbits.