Any equestrian knows this fact, though it is of little importance to the modern city dweller: a horse always travels faster in the direction of home. This behavior is not limited to horses and is exhibited in many examples across the animal kingdom. Dogs will tug harder on the leash, while homing pigeons are so aware of their place in the world that they can return to it instinctively, despite never having the capacity to invent Google Maps as humanity has.
Many people share the same experience of sleeping in the back seat as a child but knowing you are getting close to home when the car swings down a specific turn. The pattern that you recognize informs a deep part of your brain that you are, in fact, home. But what is home? How does something become so familiar it is home? How does home change? Does home ever stop being home?
Merriam-Webster lists the following as one of its definitions of home: “a familiar or usual setting: congenial environment.” To put it in simpler terms, it is a place that is agreeable to you and your values. This definition specifies a location, and it does not do justice to the connection one feels to home. It lacks the depth of emotion that is present when a dog wags its tail when you open the door, the cozy warmth of sleeping in your bed after a vacation, and the tight hug of your family. Home is different for everyone, but when we fail to perceive it with us, we all may feel like we are missing home.
A long time ago, when I was a camp counselor, the staff trained us to never ask if a child is “homesick,” preferring the term “missing home.” The distinction is that the latter is a feeling, and the former is a physical condition. In my time abroad, there were many moments I was missing home—but that did not mean I was not busy building home here.
One stormy day in my dorm, a friend and I were sharing a cup of tea. Another student walked in and started talking with us, and I insisted on being hospitable and offering him a cup of tea, too. He shook his head and told us he was from England, that the tea here wasn’t the same, and the poor imitations made him miss home. I laughed and showed him the box of Twinings Tea that I brought with me, procured from London when I was there in the spring. His shock and disbelief were so persistent that after he’d relented and accepted the cup of familiarity, his shaking hands spilled it on the floor!
He left to go home two weeks before I did, and I hope he remembers drinking tea in Tokyo when he drinks tea at home. I, personally, will almost always remember drinking tea while I was here and try to make the relaxation and joy I felt in that moment a habit—the item that brings home anywhere.
Special matcha tea service & tea sweet at a tea garden in Shizuoka, Japan.
I have already written a considerable amount concerning making myself at home in Tokyo through gaming and baseball, so allow me to share the adventures through the perspective of one of my friends and how she found herself at home.
Having grown up in Sri Lanka, my friend from across the hall was familiar with Buddhist temples at home and attending them properly. It is no surprise to me that her fascination with them developed into an adventure that yielded two full books of goshuin stamps (personalized temple stamps) and many charms to remind her of the places she went. When she sees another temple, she will always remember going to temples in Sri Lanka, but she will also remember going to temples in Tokyo—going to the temples is a familiar experience. For me, I hope to have the opportunity to see the temples in Sri Lanka one day and get to make the comparison. Dare I say I might have the chance to pick favorites!
Giant Buddha Statue at Kotoku-in, Kamakura, Japan.
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At cafés or restaurants, I would often think of people that I wished were there with me. In this way, people can become home in ways that contribute to your sense of familiarity. These people bring a sense of safety, warmth, and love into your life. When you are with these people, any place will feel like home. This yearning to have people with you does not detract from living in the moment. Rather, when I return to the US at the end of my fantastical journey abroad, I will still think of people I met here in Japan and think about if they were across the table or beside me at the bar, when I go out to eat or sing my heart out at karaoke with different people. People bring a sense of home to you, wherever you are.
While I was abroad, I “lived” in two places: an Airbnb in the Marais, a district of eastern Paris, and in a dorm building in the Hakusan area of Tokyo. While these were the places I returned to each night and woke up in the morning, I had many more “homes” than just those two. I was at home at my boss’s studio, where I spent my long afternoons nursing a black sesame latte. Tokyo Innovation Base was the coworking site that my company held meetings at in Tokyo, and my fellow interns and I would go to many cafés to get work done close by. By the end of my time abroad, I was familiar with the train lines, the crosswalks, and the streetlights between all those places.
Hakusan Station, only a block from the Uninest Hakusan House, where the Tokyo Internship Program was housed.
The familiarity I built in those places is what brought them into my perspective of “home.” These have become places where I feel safe and welcome. They are places that I am comfortable moving around in and look forward to going back to, even if that won’t be for a long while. They are places that someday, when I return to Tokyo, I will feel the train lean a certain way or hear the PA over the intercom and remember living the moments of my summer abroad.
It is important to recognize that after we leave, this memory sticks with us. While we take pieces of our adventures back, be it knick-knacks, clothes, or treasures, they pale in comparison to the photographic memories in our heads. The laughter at a dinner party, the taste of a croissant, or the steam from a hot cup of fresh tea are all things that will one day bring you back to a time when you were across the world. Much like you miss home when you are abroad, you will miss abroad then, too.
Walking faster on the street, onto the plane, through the airports and baggage claim until you’re home, you will be bringing home back with you. Home is not just in the souvenirs and treasures in your luggage but held in your heart and your mind. Home is the people you’ve met, the places you’ve seen, the food you’ve eaten, and the life you’ve lived. Welcome home, welcome back, welcome always.