Feeling at home is a unique and specific experience. Whether you feel comfortable at a friend's house and you know where the spoon drawer is, or whose cupboard is whose - feeling at home in someone else's home is an extension of the comfort we all have in our own houses.
I struggle with pinpointing where I feel most at home, as I feel I belong in both France and the UK. Associating my family and friends with feeling at home is something I can recognise with greater ease. Getting to know someone who felt like home and losing that person feels as if you are watching your childhood bedroom burn and collapse. As we go through life and we lose people, we must say goodbye to each room they set up camp in, in our minds, and this experience never gets easier.
Ever since November, I have struggled with the idea of going home as it is extremely bittersweet - a place of safety and sanctuary is tainted by painful memories of lost love and a corruption of security. Yet, my most precious parents remain in this tainted place and they remain unchanged and continuously loving and kind. Craving home has drifted from wanting a specific location and has shifted to reuniting with my parents in our shared and known space.