About two years ago I left my home town Stockholm to follow my dream of becoming a writer, which lead me to London. This weekend I went back to Stockholm after almost a year and a feeling started creeping up on me that made me wonder: Where is home?
While walking through the streets of Stockholm, seeing all the familiar places and faces where I grew up, I couldn’t help but feeling like an outsider. Stockholm felt so different but I couldn’t see any physical changes in the city, a new store might have popped up where there was something else before, but nothing radical. The swedes where the same, but they walked differently, spoke differently. Even speaking to my friends and spending time with my family felt different, I felt different. It was like the conversations and places had run dry. The feeling of nostalgia and memories was not present either. I was just lost in trying to figure out why I couldn’t feel safe and happy.
Did I received a set of new eyes in London or did everyone just radically changed?
My boyfriend had also followed his dreams to London but about five years earlier than me.
And while trying to figure out this feeling of strangeness in a city I knew so well, I asked him, where do you consider your home now?
He answered: “London”. When I wondered why he simple replied: “Because my life is there now.”
Upon returning to London I tried to see what my life looked like. I saw that I have a few friends, I’m living in a small apartment with my boyfriend, I am studying towards end of term, I go to yoga, make dinner…. And that is about it. Was it different when I lived in Stockholm? No, I don’t think it was.
So where is home? Or is the question really: What is home?
After these days, I am starting to think that home is not where everything is following the same routine, but that home is the place where every insignificant thing puts a smile on your face because you feel that you belong.
Then where do I belong?
I don’t really know yet, but I do believe I am on the road of finding out.