Coming Home

I just returned from a trip to Texas for Eid, the celebration upon the conclusion of Ramadan. In Dallas, my uncle and I booked an Airbnb for a week. Three generations were under the same roof for the first time in half a decade. We could’ve gone out into the town, but staying in was more fun. We stayed up late into the night laughing and reminiscing. We all shared a funny story about Zayd. Have you ever had the feeling of being home even when you don’t live there?

The entire week was impeccably wholesome. At the same time, it made me question, “what is home?” My definition has evolved throughout my life. For a while, it was the house my family lived in. A few years later, it became my close friends. Once I moved countries, it became my first apartment. Then I fell in love, so naturally, my partner became my home. It had to either be a place—you know, brick and mortar—or it was a person (or people). Unconsciously, I went back and forth with the concept.

On certain days, it was the release of the entire day’s tension as you unlock the door and let out a deep sigh: “Ah, it’s good to be home.” On other days, it was being able to let your guard down and lose yourself in a hug you didn’t know you needed from your special person after a tough day. It’s a moment where all your worries melt away and you can be fully present. But places can change, and people can leave. So, not a place or a person then.

Oh yeah, home is where the heart is. I guess that makes it a feeling, right? Well, feelings are fleeting. One moment, you can feel happy and invincible. In the next, sadness or smallness can take over. Don’t get me wrong—feelings are invaluable information, but sole reliance on them can lead to a bothersome chase that will keep you searching for the next dopamine hit. Doesn’t really scream “safe” now, does it? Safety being a necessary and key ingredient to the concept of home.

I wonder if others think about it as much as I do. Sometimes, I admit — albeit reluctantly — that this chase might be a trauma response. Tying something as sacred as home to a place, person, or fleeting feeling makes it fragile — and fragile things can be lost. When that happens, we’re pulled into a restless chase where peace always seems just out of reach. Maybe that’s why home must have a sense of permanence, something that cannot be taken away.

I was preparing for bed last night when it hit me. Home has always been right here, inside us. Think back to all the times you felt like you were home. There were no fears overshadowing your expression. Whether it was at a specific place or with a certain person, you were allowing yourself to be fully seen and accepted. No one else can do that for you except you. What’s more beautiful than that? The long journey of coming home is about figuring out how to love and accept ourselves.

So, when are you going to come home?

P.S. Much love and have a great weekend!