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Home. Well, fine, okay, just give me a second here. ... You see, this one, this topic, this thing hit me. And let's just get the ground rules done up front here: This is not a piece of fiction. This is Eric (aka épocadofim) telling you about my experience with home as an idea, as a thing, and as a part of my life, in as tight a package as I can. Home, for me, is complicated.

I moved around a lot growing up, and now I continue to as an adult, but I do mean a lot. Born in DC, I've lived all over the North Eastern Corridor of the USA, the west coast, and I've spent over 2 years of my life in Portugal (the other nation of which I'm a citizen and my father's birthplace). In fact, Portugal is (or was until this year, the first that I was unable to go for) was the smallest geographically continuous area I'd been to every year of my life. The next smallest is New York State (which I've lived all over through out my Life, as it is New York city that both my Italian and Portuguese ancestors arrived at, the latter more recently). After that, It's the north eastern corridor of the US, from DC (where, besides being born, I eventually finished High School) to Rhodes Island.

Now, there was also a tendency for that very unstable geographical sense of home to be shattered even more disruptively, as my academic, psychiatrist/geneticist parents believed that moving us in the middle of school years was better for forcing us to adapt to the new places (which it probably was). However, this trend continued beyond conscious choice when both my brother and I (for separate, and, in my case, far more frightening (not going into it here, maybe another time) reasons had to move in the middle of our senior years. I had to finish my high school curriculum by correspondence. To today, it's pretty much the only time I've had call in my life for the expression "by correspondence".

This being the nature of my life, the geographic idea of home has been something of a thin veil for me, unless you include the general feeling of being from the coast lines of the western world as a place called home, so home the place was never a thing for me. However, despite this constant travel, by the time I was in middle school (then was Buffalo, NY, by the way) I started to make what has been one of the hardest but most worthwhile decisions of my life into a modus operandi.

I began to hold onto people. Really hold on. My best friends in middle school and high school in Buffalo, Syracuse, DC, LA, and then in college in New York, and grad school now here, as well as other people met along the way ranging from England to Bulgaria, and to Japan to Canada, are still my friends, and many of them still my closest friends, today, because I don't let go of people. I made a decision to hold on, to make the people that made each place feel like home continue to come at least a little bit with me where ever I was, so that the home of people I built in my head could only grow, even If I could never lay down the metaphorically physical roots anywhere. So instead home is where ever I need it to be, as long I can still feel all those people that matter to me in my life.

Created: Aug 03, 2012

Tags: home, 10 minute writing, 4

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