The first time I had packed my bags to leave home was in 2002. I have lived in hostels and traveled since then. I would say I left my home in 2002, and twelve years down I am still in transit. In the twelve years, many modes of transport have happened, many kilometers have passed. Yet, I feel like I have not reached my destination.
A year and a half back my dad asked if I was considering traveling across the country. I loved the idea and hit the road. Most of my breaks from work are for travel to familiar and new places. Most of the time meeting old friends again and making new ones. I have been at it since then and I love the feeling of reaching someplace and experiencing new culture and food. More than anything I like being close to the forests and away from the city. I don't like the hustle bustle and the cacophony. I despise the addictions that technology brings us.
Again today I am packing my bag. I have my tickets and I will be away for a while. Away from where? Not from home, because living between two cities and three houses, I don't recognize a home for myself anymore. I feel like a traveler everyday and each moment. Like I am on my way home, just that I am not sure what that feels like anymore. I know the day I reach home, I will know I have come home.
I wonder if it is a physical place, or just a state of being, being home. Maybe home is made by people who love you and accept you with the quirks. Maybe home is the moment with loved ones that you are in, where you feel welcome. Maybe home is when you feel secure, and all the worries are suspended in that moment. Maybe home is just that moment of belonging to the people, the place around. However fleeting the moment might be, home is a beautiful place.
As I pack my bag, I look at the contents. Sets of clothes, brush, paste, soap, towel, shampoo. Sleeping bag, warm jacket, socks. My notebooks, my trusty umbrella and some money and ID. I know this is about all I need to live. I am sure I will survive in just these. I feel warm looking at my bag. I think it's time I painted it with my favorite fictions. I think it's time I put some familiar faces on it. It welcomes me, and I trust it not to let me down. I have memories with this bag and promises of many journeys to come. Is it possible that this is my home?
Maybe that is how travelers are, finding that home is tucked away in their bags, anywhere in the world. Right at their back, packed in small rolls, all the happiness, memories and everything they need in a cabin size pack. Truly a cabin sized home.
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