I was reading Emma Mercury’s post ‘Where Do I Belong?’ on The Messy Head’s blog. It really resonated with me and I was touched by the meaning and thoughts behind it and I broke at this particular part:
“If I am with people who don’t truly accept me, I could be anywhere in the world and not feel like I belong. When I am with people who see the good and bad parts of me and give me nothing but unconditional love… I am home.”
Lately I have noticed my feelings of not being able to belong and not being able to make a home where I am now. My sense of home has always come from wherever my parents are. Right now they are almost 10 thousand miles away. Ever since I left I have felt not myself and not able to find a new place to call home.
I get these feelings of complete happiness and I feel absolutely content in some of the places I go. Whether it be in the middle of a walk in the woods in Guilford, Connecticut or a stroll through Colonial Williamsburg, I feel happy and I know I could make my home there. But for how long will it feel like home before I get homesick for another place?
I’ve been around the world and I’ve moved more times than the average kid. It’s a blessing and a curse; a blessing because I have that opportunity to see the world, different cultures, and meet other people from totally different walks of life. The curse comes in when I get asked, “Where are you from?” That nightmare of all questions stumps every TCK and they are left to figure out how to answer the question within a few seconds unless meditated upon previously for hours. Home? Is it where I was born? Where I was previously to this? Do I want them to know I lived there? Will they think I am boasting or showing off? Will they bombard me with questions? Did I actually feel at home in that place enough to call it home?
It is such a hard question to answer, especially when home has such a deep meaning to someone like me. Home and house are totally different things. Home embodies not just the house but the memories and feelings along with it; the feelings of love, hope, comfort, and the ability to be who you truly are.
I realized that the college I attend now may never feel like home unless I find people I can call my home. I’m willing to give it a chance. My overall sense of home comes from people. People are my home. Not crowds of people or a swarm of acquaintances but a few human beings who are so comfortable in their own skin and so firm in their beliefs and just have outstanding depth. And since I have mentioned it being hard to make friends here, it makes sense that I haven’t developed that feeling of home for this place yet.
This is a real journal excerpt of mine that I am sharing that puts me in an open and vulnerable position (not that I haven’t done that already) but I must be honest with myself and with whoever reads this because for so long I’ve been ashamed of how I felt so often and I have thus been consumed by them. I have been most fortunate to have opened up to people and them give me validity to my feelings and tell me that I’m not so terribly alone as I thought I might have been.
I stepped out of the car and opened the trunk.
I looked out over the road, the cars, the drill field, and Burrus Hall.
It stood stone still in the cool misty night.
I burst into tears and told myself and Michael and anyone
within 10 feet how I really felt about this place. “I hate it here.”
I know, shocking isn’t it?! It was a feeling tied down to that moment however. A feeling I had to get out to leave there and forget about it. That’s how I felt about this place in that moment but these things take time. I didn’t know at that point in time that people are my home. I didn’t have the close relationships then that I so craved, so of course this didn’t feel like home. Home was with my parents, my old high school dorm parents in Kentucky, and with my sister and brother like friends at my high school.
During winter break, I was in Campbellsville, Kentucky with my old dorm parents and old friends from high school. That was when break started for me and I felt so incredibly myself. I was willing to call that place home instantly. It was because these people knew me and accepted me as I was. I could relate with them because we had history and similar experiences. And who doesn’t love the friendly south?! I even started talking like a Southerner at one point because the accent is so beautifully contagious. I even seriously looked into transferring to Campbellsville University because I loved everything and everyone in that place. The church there, Vineyard Church, is such an inspiring and God filled place that I felt so welcomed and growth happened every single Sunday I attended. (I was there for almost three weeks.) I decided to not transfer because it is considerably more expensive there than the college I currently attend and I already started friendships at my college that I felt I shouldn’t abandon all hope. God put me there for a reason.
With all that said, I am still looking for home. Home can be in the city, in the forest, on a farm, in Germany, or Indonesia. Wherever it is I haven’t grasped it yet. Maybe I will never find it…here on earth. For I know my true home is with Jesus. And I can’t tell you how often I crave to be in heaven and be…truly home. I guess then it is a good thing I haven’t found a home on earth yet…and I’m secretly hoping deep down I don’t because I don’t want to get too comfortable here.
Pure Joy 
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