Maybe it's because I wasn't really around when my parents decided to relocate off the main island of Hong Kong, but I don't think that's the biggest reason. Everything seems so unrecognisable, yet vaguely familiar - like a feint memory of a past dream. As I walk the same streets I have walked many a time before, I feel almost foreign in the city I grew up in. And I'm not entirely sure it's the city that has changed.
I guess it's struck me that I've finally branded myself as "international". Many people have provided me with clever insight about my past blog post regarding bilingualism. They have helpfully informed me that what I was describing was in fact biculturalism - something I didn't even know existed, and am slightly shocked that the autocorrect on my blog editor isn't underlining in squiggly red like crazy (it just goes to show how great a blogger I am that other people need to explain to me what my own blog post means). I might feel oddly misplaced in Hong Kong despite ethnically belonging and having grown up here (I don't think I can even confidently say I have spent the majority of my life here anymore), but I still wouldn't call London my home. So, have I become a permanent tourist wherever I go? Because let me tell you: that's a horrifying thought.
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| Not my original idea, but I resonate with the concept. I mean, who doesn't? |
Despite all this, these past few days, I have had the sense of "home" returning to me. But it wasn't a question of where, but rather with whom. I've realised "home" are my parents, my brothers and my friends. They are all family to me. They give me the sense of belonging, the comfort of familiarity and the snuggly warmth of togetherness. It's the simple pleasures of home-cooked dinners, catching up over drinks, and cracking up over stupid stories that makes me feel like I'm well and truly back. Their embraces are the welcome doormat; their smiles, the front door; our relationships, the rooms; their stories, the furniture; their laughter, the lights; their support, the roof; our wishes, hopes and dreams, the windows. These people are my home. And it has never felt better to be back.
It's easy to say that we'll keep in touch, but being in different countries (and time zones) takes its toll. Even the greatest bridges has its limits, and I don't blame anyone for the distance that was created. Life tends to be a busy occupation. But what reminds me that they'll forever be my home is how quickly we snap back to being... well, us. When we're back together, its like I never left. I'm still everyone's baby brother, and I wouldn't exchange that for the world. And even if my family have my best interests in mind sending me off again in a week's time, I know that every part of my home will always be there when I'm back next time.
You know you really love something when you miss it before its gone. And right now, I miss my home before I even need to leave. I'm very fortunate and grateful that my parents can visit me in London a few times a year, and I live with my eldest brother who has always looked out for me. But I miss my middle brother very much too, and wish that we'd be able to live together again. I miss my dearest friends as well, all of whom I regard as my siblings. It does suck to know that I've missed important phases in their lives, the good and the bad, and wish I could've been beside them when they experienced those moments.
But, whether the wind strikes hard, or the rain pours heavily, this is a home that will always stand strong. These individuals form the house that shelters me, and I know I will always have a place waiting for me to come home to, however long I may be gone for.
They are the only house that is invincible. And they are truly a home that will never change.
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