Where is home? Could it be the city I grew up in, or the megapolis I studied in and became an 'adult' in, or is it where I live and work now? I've wondered for five years. It began when my countrymen asked me which city I came from, since we all sought common interests so we didn't remember how far from home we all were. My city, the city I grew up in, was in another country. We ate the same food, we spoke the same language, but we could not think the same way.
Listening to them, I realised my life was one of comfort, and so I began to question my fortune. I later realised how fortunate I was but by then, like a nervous outbreak on prom night, another question had arisen - where was I from? It wasn't New York, or Dubai, or Bombay.
As a few years passed the intensity of this pull to everywhere and nowhere in particular waned. I had other things to do. I had moved to a different country, where I worked during the day, met someone after work, and spent the rest of the day speaking with her. Like everything, she came to pass. And suddenly, the question arose once more, with more violence. Where am I from? Where is home? I thought - and think - this in a literal sense. If I am not here to stay, what holds me here? Is it sentiment or the death of a wandering spirit?
It's odd. I cannot understand myself, but I try to comprehend life in my adopted home. As a result, I learn less about the man I am, and more about how I react to my new environment. All it teaches me is how to coexist with the inhabitants of this city.