The place called home

It was early spring, in 2010. I had arrived in New York City after a month travelling across the US, feeling tired, cold and homesick. The song Home by Michael Bublé played a few times and I was ready to give up on my quest, because I longed to be back in KL where it’s always warm and I wouldn’t have to worry about dry skin, icy cold feet and which mode of transportation to take next. But I was saved by familiar people, an old schoolmate and a not-so-new acquaintance. A day with them and all was well again. I was able to complete my tour and moved on to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Turned out that I needed saving there too and I had strangers as my heroes, plus I received a hug from an angel as a bonus.

When I think of the word home, I think of my favourite people, doing things that I love and wearing the uniform. Home is where I am able to contribute, to give back. It is also the place where my heart is but it has gone off wandering. Again. I wish it would come back soon. I miss it.

Right now, I am the closest to home as I will ever be. The emotions I felt in New York that spring five year ago have crept up on me once in a while but they have never stayed long. So far that is. I hope it will remain that way for the foreseeable future.


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