Vladography

I no longer have a sense of what I have the right to call home. When I was young, home was an anonymous area of south London – it had a physical address, at least until until I was thirteen. It was the only place I remember living, with next door neighbours that had always been there and more grandparents, uncles and aunts just a couple of streets away. When we moved house, home became an area of London that included where I lived now and where I’d grown up in, but it was no longer a street or a particular house in that street. Home was a suburb.

Then I left for university and home expanded even further. It became where I came back to at the end of each term. It encompassed all of the the places where my old school friends lived and the shops, pubs and clubs we hung out in. But it was still a part of London, a collection of suburbs south of the river.

In the next stage of my life I left home (wherever that was by then) and went to live in Birmingham. It felt like an emigration, and I knew that whatever happened there was no going back. In some ways I’m still sad about that. Then home became Moseley, a trendy student part of Birmingham, where I hung out more often than lived. My hairdresser was in Moseley, my acupuncturist, and my favourite pub (I think it might have changed a bit since then), but I only lived there for a year or two of the ten years I spent in Birmingham. But even though I had made my home in Birmingham and never seriously thought of leaving, I often caught myself in the act of saying “I’m going home this weekend.” Home was still London, where my mother lived.

Then I moved to France from there to Amsterdam and ‘home’ became a whole other country. I felt at home in France, but it never was home to me. Amsterdam is complicated, a welcoming city but full of foreigners coming and going, and a place where it’s hard to find a sense of belonging.

And though England is home, London stopped being home after my mother died and the house she lived in was sold. There are many memories in London, but no physical place to tie me to any more.

But sitting on the plane on the way back from a trip to the UK, which this time around felt more like home than ever, I felt glad to be going home. Though I’m really not sure where that is any more. It used to bother me but I’ve grown used to it. And once I figure out where home really is, I might just find my way there.