May 26, 2014
Perhaps one of the strangest things about being an expat is that home is never a simple term. There is this home, the one I returned to on Friday, with the mortgage and the memories of our little family, with the white picket fence L built and the gardens I have planted. Our girls call this home, they spin and giggle in it's hall, play dress-ups in it's rooms, build forts in it's crannies.
Then there is the other home, the one I left on Wednesday. Where my people are, the ones I grew up with, the ones that knew me as I grew. Those people that hold my heart and are my home.
Every time I make the journey I come back a little lost. If home is where the heart is then when your heart is divided across the oceans, it takes a bit to settle. But settle we will.