4. What Home Actually Means | When You Don’t Have an Address
How my idea of home changed after years of moving, and what home means when you don’t have a fixed address
BELONGING
Written in my first weeks in a new country. This is how I feel now, and it may change.
Whenever someone asks me where I live, a thousand answers go through my head. It depends. In Brazil, it was easy to answer, even with all the mental confusion and uncertainty. In the country where I am now, I am still reluctant not to say that I live in Australia (yes, it has been 3 months already, and letting go of the “idea” still hits me sometimes). To the people close to me, I say that I am living here temporarily. To strangers, I only say Australia, to avoid more questions. But deep down, it is confusing, even for me. Right now, I am filling out many random forms that ask for an address, and I really don’t know what to put. I feel completely out of place, like I am on an “extended holiday.”
This is the last note of this chapter, after writing about coming home and feeling foreign in both places. So what does home actually mean?
The address I don’t have
As I shared in my last note, my visa was denied, and I understood that it was really the end.
At that time, I spent 2 months thinking about whether I would cancel my Australian number. I didn’t want to keep paying for a plan. I tried to change to prepaid, but it seemed more complicated than my patience. After I understood that I was not going back to Australia, I realized I didn’t even need to keep my number. I decided to cancel my Qantas points, and probably my American Express soon. I didn’t need to worry about the ATO and all the government apps anymore. I would keep only my bank, if there was no fee, of course.
I was not going to live or work in Brazil, and I was not going to stay here for long, so I didn’t know in which country I should get a new number. This simple decision caused me so much stress. I couldn’t stand the emails from Telstra saying that my line would be canceled at any moment.
So where was my home? But what does home really mean? It depends.
What home used to mean
It depends on my new idea of home, on my old idea, or on what society says it is. Before I started to travel, home was always where my heart would be: family, comfort, the same foods, the same people and accent, nothing “different,” even similar views of the world.
Home was where I could have a closet and not worry about reducing everything to live with only 1 suitcase. My fixed address. Where I had “unlimited” space for things with emotional value: boxes, gifts. Today, that became just a folder with my favorite cards, my birth certificate, my diploma and other important documents. Home was my base, and everything should be close by: school, work, friends…
How it changed
This started to change when I moved to another state for 5 years to go to university. Everything was different, and it was a small shock. I became the “different accent,” my slang was funny, and I quickly adapted to the new place.
After 5 years “adapted,” I moved again for about 6 months, during the time of the masks. Another quick adaptation, and I was getting further and further from my “first home.” Then came my first international trip, and I wanted even more to explore the world. Mexico, another 6 months. It was the most “different” so far: a new language, spicy food (even for breakfast), and so many Americans, which made it feel even more different. I got interested in how they celebrate the Day of the Dead. But it was so good.
Then Colombia. I had a hard time there. In my first week, I wanted to leave, but after a while I could find my peace. I did love Cartagena. Medellín reminded me a lot of Brazil. Then back to Brazil, just to visit my family, and then the UK.
England was by far the most uncomfortable adaptation: the weather, the English, the food, the people, a new wardrobe (a different style of clothes, because of the cold). London is so big, I felt like a tiny nothing. I saw snow for the first time. It was hard, for a long period. I lived with other immigrants, Brazilians, my best friend, and that “home” became where my heart was, even sharing a room with 12 people. But there, I had an address. Every country showed me that I had so much more to explore. I think every experience took me further away from my “base” and I didn’t even notice. I didn’t want to go back “home,” but I knew I would not be in London for long.
Australia
Then came Australia, 3 years. It was the period when I learned the most, I matured, I learned what love is, and I managed to stay in the same job for more than 3 months. I created my new “base,” and living in a small community brought a good feeling of belonging (to the community, not the country). I managed to have 2 suitcases, make plans, and dream. I even thought I would get married there.
I remember when I went to Vietnam for 2 weeks and came back to Australia. It brought me such a big moment of happiness. I felt at home, or at what home had become for me. That made me realize that “home” is a subjective term that floats. Having a routine with the same people, the same place, the same job, and getting used to it is what home was for me, and maybe a fixed address was just the cherry on top of the cake.
What home means now
I am definitely tired of traveling and moving all the time, but I don’t have much choice, or I simply couldn’t handle the most obvious option (staying in my hometown). Right now, home is having a place to stay for more than 1 month, being able to put all my toiletries on the shelf in the bathroom, and being able to unpack my 1 suitcase, here we go again. Having my routine, making new friends and long-term friends. I am tired of connecting with people who will leave soon, and maybe that makes me close up a little, because I know I will leave soon too. Even though I am living a transition phase, I feel more comfortable now. I can renew my membership without fear, and I am building every day what welcomes me.
On my first dates with my partner, he gave me a kangaroo dressed as Santa Claus. I keep my sister’s letters and the photos of my nephews. When I left Brazil recently, they made a sign saying “come back soon, auntie,” full of colors and with their handprints, and gave it to me at the airport. It was impossible not to bring it. Wherever I go, these things bring me value and memories.
Having a definitive house and home, to furnish and decorate however I want, is not in my plans at the moment. I understood that belonging is much more a feeling than a place. I have already deconstructed some social impositions that trapped me for a long time, and I accepted that my reality is the result of my choices. What about going back to my “base” and first home? I tried, and maybe the feeling of “going back” there ended a long time ago, but it only sank in recently. That return to Australia after the holiday in Vietnam gave me many insights. Sometimes freedom gets in the way of wanting to create roots, at least that is how it works for me right now.
I keep repeating: you can’t have everything in this life. We have to give up some things in the short term to gain more in the long term. Freedom gave me unforgettable experiences and lessons. The freedom to change homes and countries brought me fluency in English and Spanish, even though I still feel insecure sometimes. It brought me better living conditions. I could explore 15 countries (to be honest, I stopped counting). It opened my mind, and the cultural enrichment is huge. But it cost me a lot. Special moments with my family. I haven’t celebrated Christmas with them for more than 4 years. I don’t even remember the last time. I missed my nephews’ first birthday. A change in how I see things, which made me not fit in. The loss of some roots, because there are things that don’t change, and sometimes I reconnect with them in random situations and in other countries. But what I learned made it all worth it.
Rebuilding
At the moment, I am rebuilding my “home.” I have been in a new country for 3 weeks, starting from zero again, but keeping my same habits. It is interesting to see that there are things inside me that don’t change, no matter where I am, mentally or physically. Not making the bed is non-negotiable. I noticed that simplicity stays with me. Maybe I was born with it? Even though I like comfort, and I am training at a super fancy gym, I noticed that the basics make me happy: simple food, not caring much about what I wear, and a thousand other worries that modern life puts on us.
This makes the process of rebuilding my “home” easier. Even in a different country, in a language I don’t speak, in a different culture, I feel that I can have the same feeling I had before in Australia and in other places I have been. My therapist says I am very resilient, and I don’t know how much of a compliment that is, but without a doubt, being resilient has helped me feel less lost and frustrated with the latest changes. I hope the feeling of belonging builds up gradually, but I understand that it comes naturally, and I will not force it.
What does home mean to you?
What does home mean to you today, even if it is temporary?
Write to me :)
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