I don't think I've stayed in one house or apartment for more than three years at a time. I grew up moving around with my family, but we've only lived in four cities (five if you count the few months I spent in the Philippines with my grandparents). This is why I've never thought the concept of "home" as one physical place you always return to.
To be "home" is to feel comfortable, welcome, and safe in a place where you can be the best version of yourself. It's common to understand that as the area where you grew up and spent the most time as a kid.
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For most of my childhood, I grew up in the suburban area of Dallas, Texas, but I wouldn't say it's my home anymore. It definitely was at the time and I treasure the good memories, but I wouldn't go back to live there again. When I moved to the Seattle, Washington area, it was definitely a huge change, and I would describe the first year here as the transitioning period between two distinct stages in my life.
When I visit the homes of families who've stayed in the same house for more than 10 years, I'm always amazed by how much stuff they have. It's not necessarily clutter, but their life story is all over the walls in grade school pictures, colorful scribbles, and plaques. The longer you stay in a home, the easier it is to hang up decorations with permanent intent.
I got used to taping posters to walls so they don't leave evidence of my stay when I leave. Waking up to white, bare walls became a familiar feeling. There were never any notches in the door frames to track my height (which never changed after 7th grade anyway).
I remember the first time we moved into a house instead of an apartment, I was so happy and thought that's where we would stay forever. Then came the second home, the third, and then the fourth–the current home. Each time my family moved, more stuff got left behind as well as the memories attached to them. Sometimes I regret abandoning a box of stuffed animals or prized grade school certificates, and other times I completely forget. Lately, it's been easier to forget than to remember.
I've never stayed in a place long enough to really put down my roots. I like the idea of collecting memories in one place until I become restless and move on. I'm no vagabond but I think I would eventually like to settle down in one place. I'm only 22 years old (23 next month), so I have time to decide, or so I'd like to think.
So maybe a person could have several places they call home whenever they visit, or maybe home is just a place of current residence. We all have our different interpretations of a home as a place, a concept, or even a person. Do we know if a place is a home when we get there or when we leave?
