Where’s home?

I often get the question these days if I’m going to go home for Christmas. Yes and no. I am staying here, in what I consider my home, and I’m not going back to my old house in Sweden, which I don’t consider as home anymore.

It’s funny how you all have different perspectives. Many of my friends say that they will always consider their birth-town as their home and it will never change. I don’t think I’m as homebound as many others, I like my freedom of living alone, of taking care of myself and knowing what my abilities are. Of course this has nothing to do with calling my parents house my home, but I still think this affects me and my way of thinking.

I moved out from my parents house when I was twenty and since then I have done many things, especially since I moved to Spain. Moving out of your own country teaches you a lot about life, I think. All of a sudden you’re alone. If there is a problem you won’t be able to call your parents and they’ll come over and fix it for you. No, you have to deal with it yourself. You might be able to get advice, but it’s not the same as having physical help just within a few miles.

What I’ve learned since I moved out of my parents house is to be very dependant. I feel more prepared for whatever might come and I know that nothing is impossible or worth getting upset with. Of course I’ve always had my parents around or other family members to help me and I appreciate it a lot.

So where is home? Is it where you live or is it where you are from?

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