Today I had a call with my mum, and she asked me what I am doing. I told her I am going home right now from shopping and she immediately said: “Don’t call it home, your home is here!”. I just said “Yes, yes” as always. But as I continued in my way at home I started to ask myself “Where is my home? What is my home?”.
I grew up in an average house with my parents. Well, I spent 15 years there with both my parents. When I was 15 years old or something like that, my parents got a divorce, and we moved with my mother to my grandma’s house. Everything was complicated. One week, I was living with my dad and the second week I was living with my mum. Every time I told her I am going home to take some things she had the face “I am here, this your home now.” and my grandma was the same. It was hard. They hated each other, and I was in the middle of everything. How can I call this my home?
After two years, my mum introduced me her new boyfriend, and we started to live with him. So I had to move again. To be honest, I liked more living with my grandma than with him. My grandma had always fridge full of food. I am just kidding now. It was in nice a location near to my school, so I didn’t mind living there.
We lived there for one year when my mum told me we would build a new house few kilometres from the city. I was nicely surprised cause I always preferred a small village before a big city. I think it took two years to build the house, not sure now. Anyway, after two years we moved there, I had my room so I could do everything I wanted. But what’s important that I knew I would not have to move anywhere for a long time and I could call this my second home.
So I had two places which I could call my home. The place where my dad is living and a place where my mum is living. But which one is the right one? Both of them?
Then I went on Erasmus, and I am so happy I could share a house with two Portuguese girls. Only because of them I felt there like at home. I will always love these girls. Every day with them was fantastic, and I will never forget our home.
Maybe you already know what’s my point and you know my answer.
After Erasmus, I started to live with my parents again. One week there and second there. I joined ESN and helped international students with their Erasmus in Czech. But in the Summer Semester, something happened. I was a buddy of the Croatian girl and when she came to the city I had to pick her up and show her a way to dormitories. At this moment, none of us knew what’s going to happen. I picked her up, took her at dormitories and showed her her room. When we opened a door, we have met our last roommate for the next four and half months. The Turkish girl. Maybe you are asking why I wrote “our last roommate”. To be honest, I don’t know what happened and how it started, but after two/three weeks I began to sleep in their (our) room almost every day. I slept there more than at my home, and I felt there much better than at my home.
A few days after their departure I moved to Malta. The first month here, I was living in a big house with many people. It was terrible. Nobody cared about the other people. Now I am living with two Italian girls, and I am calling this place home.
So which place should I call my home? The answer is “All of them!”. I think it doesn’t matter where the place is but who is living there. If there are people who will always welcome you with open hands, you can always feel there like at home.
Home is where your heart is, and my heart belongs to them who love me! With them, I will always feel like at home.