A Place Called Home

There is something about the meaning of home that really intrigues me since couple of years ago. I have been trying to find it and now I finally come up with an unusual conclusion. It all started since I feel like the house I grew up and the city I was born and raised are no longer home for me; since I feel homesick for an unknown place. They said, we go to all kinds of places but finally return home. I just wonder, what is home if the road that draws you away from it is more familiar, more comforting? what is home if the distance that physically separate you and other people in your life actually brings you closer with the ones you really care about? what is home if the unfamiliar places feel more exciting than the one that you already know too much? Then maybe home is not one stationary location, or where your beloved ones live. Instead, maybe it is the process of traveling itself, the process of moving from one place to another, the process of saying "hello" and "see you soon", the process of understanding the unfamiliar to be familiar enough. 

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