Home: A relative concept

DIFFICULT TO DEFINE

One thing I will always remember about being a kid, was my insatiable appetite for familiar comfort. I despised being pushed out of my comfort zone, and wanted everything to remain the same. I didn't enjoy branching out and meeting new people, and "sick-days" at home from school were cherished. As a teenager, I even mastered the ability of deceiving the receptionist at school and calling in sick, just so that I could sit at home and bask in the comfort of familiarity. Being sent off to school camp used to terrify me, as did spending the night in a strange bed at a friends house, or having to showcase my amateur athleticism. Something always pulled me back to simplicity and comfort; a place people often refer to as 'home'.

At twenty-four, I haven't really changed, except for the fact that my comfort zone has vastly expanded over the years, and for the most part, I've come to understand that distance from comfort is the essential ingredient for growth. I recently returned from a three week trip spent with family and friends in New Zealand, my home country. During the lengthy flight back to Dubai, I was able to reflect on this topic and expand on my theory that the word 'home' is a relative concept, similar to how there's no way to objectively define 'good' and 'bad'. What exactly does 'home' represent for different people? Can you have more than one 'home'? And does it mean the same to you, as it does to me?

After considering my own idea of 'home' I assembled the image above. It includes a photo of my dog Toby and I at Karekare beach in New Zealand; an area special to me because of a small Pōhutukawa tree planted in memory of my late mother. The image also includes a photo of Dubai Internet City, the modern suburb I currently reside in and have grown quite attached to. There's also an image of Auckland City from Orakei Basin (a route I have walked at least 100 times) and lastly a photo of me with two mates that I consider to be family and feel at 'home' around. Clearly there is a lot more that I would include, such as family members, my family home in Auckland, my apartment, and some of the people I have grown close to in Dubai, but I only had so much space to spare. What I found interesting when constructing the collage is that 'home' can be anything; a person, a setting, or whatever it is that makes you feel comfortable and content.

'Home' is a concept that we are all familiar with and can relate to in some way. But it wasn't until recently that I truly understood the idea that the word 'home' is a relative term that can have a variation of meanings to different people. It's a difficult word to define, the same way other relative terms such as 'love' can mean something completely different to the person sitting next to you. Whether you are fortunate enough to associate a big spacious family house as your 'home' or if you simply feel comfortable around a certain individual or in a particular place and consider it to be 'home', either can share the description. Because when it really comes down to it, 'home' does not have a definitive meaning. It is a word we use to describe our own various sacred sanctuaries; settings where we feel content or people we feel comfortable around.

As far as I'm aware, the most common association of the term 'home' is the house that people are brought up in or currently live in. Or is that just an ignorant assumption? I really don't know. What I do know is that not everyone has experienced the same lifestyle or lived through the same experiences, and would therefore have a very different idea of what comfort and belonging represents to them. There are so many things to consider: What about people who shifted house a lot growing up? Or those who never felt comfortable around the people they were brought up with? Or what about people who never had a house to live in? What would 'home' be to them?

Growing up in a privileged household, my perception of 'home' was always where my family lived, in a distinctive red house in Auckland with my family. I was fortunate to be brought up with familiar comfort and stability; a place where I knew I would be safe and cared for. But as time progressed from youth to teen-hood, naturally my concept of home altered as my surroundings changed and became unfamiliar. First of all, school never turned out to be somewhere I considered to be 'home'. I found school to be awkward and oppressive, but I know that many people thoroughly enjoyed the experience and felt very much at home. For some, school provides a sanctuary away from poverty or violence and becomes a second home. It all depends on the individual experience. Once I reached high school, my mother passed away ripping a big whole in my comfort zone, therefore high school never developed into much of a 'home' for me either because I always associated it with grief. Then a few years later, my sisters who I have always been close with, both ventured out and moved to Australia, leaving my dad and I to "fend for ourselves" as he would jokingly say.

During that time, my dad and I became a lot closer. We collectively decided to move somewhere more suited to us. With the help of friends and family, we relocated twenty-years-worth of stuff to a smaller house, still in the same area, which eventually became our new 'family home'. My dad and I developed our own routines together, which to this day, have proven most difficult to let go of since I moved away. With only two of us in the house, Dad got to know my friends better, which then made me feel more comfortable having them around at our house. Thus, my close friends became more like family, and I began to appreciate the importance of quality relationships as opposed to vapid and temporary friendships that seemed to dominate my teen years. Substantial friendships to me are an important aspect of what makes a 'home'. Thanks to this realization, these days I feel much more comfortable lounging out in my apartment binge watching a series knowing that my good friends will always be there if I need them, as opposed to going out and get wasted with people I share nothing in common with.

During the three years that I was completing my degree from 2011-2015, although I didn't realize it at the time, my perception of 'home' was changing as I matured. It was no longer the house I had been brought up in that I considered to be home, but rather the area I had been brought up in, the unique people and places that I could familiarize with, the friends that became more like family, the routines I had built, and the memories that I recorded. It wasn't until I moved to another country that I truly understood how relative the term 'home' really is, because now my perception of 'home' has expanded far beyond what it once was.

“Perhaps home is not a place,
but simply an irrevocable condition.”

A BROADER PERSPECTIVE

If 'home' represents where we're born, encompassing comfort, stability and familiarity, which human beings naturally crave, why then do so many of us leave our homes? Why do we tear ourselves away? For me, even though I grew up in a peaceful, respectful environment and was always provided with a sense of security, I still felt the urge to break away from my 'home' and experience life abroad. It was a classic case of curiosity and hope; hope that there might be a better life out there just waiting to be lived, and curiosity about what the world had to offer. For me it was a conscious decision I made in order to expand my horizons and escape my perennial partying habits. I understand now just how fortunate I am that it was a choice to leave my home and not forced upon me.

Some of the people I have met during my time living abroad have taught me an important reality that many of us in privileged societies do not understand or even consider: To have a home is a blessing. It's a privilege and something to be cherished, because not everybody has one. Many people I have met in Dubai have relocated from countries that are not so privileged. Some colleagues and others I have befriended from Syria and Pakistan for example, cannot understand why I would move away from such a tranquil country where my family, friends and familiarity all reside, to live and work by myself in a foreign setting. I mean, it's not as though I desperately needed to provide for my family back at home like so many of the expats do in Dubai. My relocation was fuelled by my own, slightly selfish will. I always give the same explanation to people, somewhere along the lines of "better money, better opportunities, and overseas work experience". I'm always politely praised for having the courage to leave my home to pursue a career, but I'm never quite convinced that my explanation is received wholeheartedly. For many people, family and familiarity is the center of their universe.

Some people do not have a deep sense of pride for their homeland like I do for New Zealand, because their memories of 'home' could have been tainted by conflict, ruined by hurtful experiences, or simply forgotten out of grief. Relocation is not always a choice. Many people are forced to leave their homes; whether it's because of war, famine, religious conflict, or lack of opportunities to make a living. I know I might come across as naive writing about such things, because I obviously cannot relate, but I think that acknowledgment and respect for others is the first step in understanding various perspectives and situations, especially with the current hotly debated migrant crisis. As a Kiwi, it's easy to forget just how fortunate I am, coming from a country that is free from war, religious oppression, and even free from most international visa requirements. In my position as a journalist, I've been able to travel internationally without having to worry about sorting a visa. It's one of the major perks of being from New Zealand. On the other hand, my Jordanian colleague doesn't have it so easy. It's terribly unfair.

The other day I went to a nearby salon to get a haircut, and I was served by a young guy from Syria. What seemed to be a friendly conversation went slightly sour when I asked him what city he was from. He mumbled "Damascus" and immediately changed the subject. Damascus is currently embroiled in a terrible war. The United Nations estimates that around 250,000 people have been killed as a result of the Syrian War, with about 6 million displaced as refugees. There were many things I wanted to ask him about his thoughts on the state of his home country, but I was too afraid that it might offend him. I sat there feeling very sheepish, considering my trivial daily struggles I had just shared with him, and the selfish explanation for my own relocation. I tried to imagine what it must be like to live in a foreign country, knowing that you might never be able to return home. I felt a huge amount of respect for the guy who wore a smile on his face even when he had every reason not to.

Just across from the Arabian Gulf, there are people being forced to flee their homes in the most demeaning ways, with no choice but to accept that 'home' will be forever be gone and out of reach. Like I said, I cannot relate to this. Many of us cannot. All I know is that it makes me appreciate what I have, all that I live for, and the incredible freedom that I, like many other privileged people, are so fortunate to possess. I chose to relocate to a foreign country and I can return to my 'home' whenever I see fit. People fleeing their homeland because of war and religious conflict cannot. They have no choice but to adapt to a foreign setting and adopt it as their new 'home' regardless of whether or not they feel comfortable or content. With a bit of luck, perhaps those refugees will one day learn to feel the same pride for their new homeland, the way I feel pride for mine. "Insha'Allh".

My good friend Issa, who is half-Emirati half-Filipino, is often curious and enamored by the the way I talk about my home country with such pride. Every time I spot a New Zealand brand at Dubai Mall, hear a Kiwi song, or spot a silver fern logo, my face lights up and I immediately boast to him about New Zealand with shameless dignity. He admits that before he met me, New Zealand had never even crossed his mind. Just a quiet little country at the bottom of the world. In fact, I was shocked the other day when a colleague of mine asked me if New Zealand is next to Switzerland. I often used to wonder what it must be like for people like Issa who have split nationalities and have more than one place that is 'home'. As a child, I would feel envious of other students who announced that they were moving to another country; a foreign setting where they had the chance to start from scratch and build a new identity. But then again, having grown up in one community has enabled me to establish life-long friendships that I cannot imagine my life without.

I know what you must be thinking: Why don't you just go back to New Zealand if you appreciate your homeland so much? What are you trying to prove? The answer is simple: Being away from my 'home' has broadened my perspective of 'home' and made me question it and appreciate what I have so much more. I've become addicted to the sensation of pride and nationalism that I've felt ever since I left, and the realization that (as cheesy as it sounds) absence does in fact make the heart grow fonder.

When I recently touched down at Auckland airport, the feeling of pure delight and anticipation I felt, knowing that I was going to be reunited with my family and friends was priceless. It made the long journey worthwhile. But during my time away, I also experienced my first sense of homesickness for Dubai. It came as a surprise to me that I truly missed my apartment, new lifestyle, and even work. When I returned to Dubai, as I traveled along the grand Sheikh Zayed Road stretching along the coastline, I gazed with pride at the spread of dominant skyscrapers that cluster along the highway, and felt right at home. It was amazing to feel the same sense of excitement and pride when I returned to Dubai, as I did when I arrived in Auckland. It was a huge contrast to when I first arrived in the expansive desert city, not knowing a single soul and having no emotional connection to the place at all. What a difference a year can make.

Fast forward one year, and in my mind, Dubai has almost become as much a 'home' to me as Auckland is. It certainly takes time to adapt to any new setting and familiarize with new people, but as long as you can keep an open-mind, find some degree of peace, security and pleasure, I believe any destination has the potential to become a second home. In my fortunate position, I'm able to consider staying on and living in Dubai for years to come, or move on to another new setting. Not to mention the possibility of returning to New Zealand. I have so many possibilities to consider, which is one of the aspects of life that truly inspires me to have faith and never give up. The most important thing for me to remember, is that I am tremendously fortunate to be in control of where my life takes me. Never forget just how lucky you are.