is valid membershipbool(false) data condition: ($published_duration_difference < $settings_duration_difference)bool(true) private_publicly_contentbool(false)

Whether you ask me now

5 years ago

30 years from now

 

I don’t think I could tell you if home is a place

A feeling

A time

A person

Or plural

 

“When I go home”

Translations:

The hotel I spend 2 nights at

My parents’ house

My friend’s place where I’m crashing for a week

A stranger’s home we’re renting

Palestine.

 

Collapsing into my bed after 4 weeks of country hopping,

I’m relieved to finally be home.

 

In a country I’ve never been to before

Where I don’t speak the language

Where I have no ties

But I feel like I’ve never been home until

Just.

This.

Moment. 

 

Every library I have ever stepped foot in is a home

A reliable familiarity that embraces me

 

My dad’s name

My grandfather’s name

My family name

Trigger alarm bells at passport control in Tel Aviv

Home.

 

A country that will never claim me

but held me and raised me for 7 years

Somehow home too

 

I’m back home in an I-HOP

In my hometown that I never left

With 2 best friends

 

I’m more at home eating kibbeh

Sipping tea in a refugee camp on the outskirts of Thessaloniki

More than I am in the apartment I go home to every night for 3 months

 

This hospital is a home I wish I never knew

Quite.

So.

Intimately.

When they tell me they don’t need to see me so much anymore

A part of me feels like I lost something  

 

I take a little piece of home

In bags of homemade za’atar

Back home with me

 

Someone assumes I’m not from here

Someone assumes I am

I’m not sure who’s right

If anyone’s right

 

The mosque is a fickle home

A structure that at times welcomes me

At times seems to tell me to leave

 

No matter which home I’m in at the moment

A part of me always feels like home is somewhere else

Someone else

Something else

That part of me wonders

Will I spend my whole life in search of a home?

Or will my heart learn to find rest in many?