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  • Writer's pictureValeria


Feeling home is that warm vibe you have walking down the street. It’s in your feet, when you touch the ground, and it goes up until your very last hair, leaving a big smile on your face.
You raise your eyes. Skyscrapers or a never-ending sky, maybe some trees. You are breathing everything, deeply, you’re breathing home.
You open your ears, listen to noises surrounding you. Animal sounds, the wind, the rain, a car’s horn. It’s all familiar, not because you’ve already heard it but because each of these sounds means home to you.
While walking, you hold out your arm to touch. You push the button to cross the street, touch the shoulder of the girl in front of you because something came out of her pocket. You sit on a bench in the park. Open the door of your favourite café, order a cappuccino and heat your hands with the mug.
That cappuccino smells so good. That smell warms you everywhere. Like the public office smell, the smell of freshly cut grass, the smell of freshly baked bread. 
Even though all of this is not always pleasant, it’s still ok. You will always find scenes, noises, elements and smells you hate about the place you live in but each of these make that place “home”.

What place came to your mind, while reading?

I wrote this piece on the 26th of May. I was in Tasmania, just quit my farm job and impatiently waiting to leave for Thailand. I would have published it once back.

Today, the 22th of June, I am in Melbourne again, sat at Starbucks, the one opposite to the Public Library. I sat down with my computer, applied for my Medicare and ordered a Caramel Macchiato and a Coconut Bread. Here, where everything began, sat in my favourite café ordering “the usual”. Then, I don’t know why, I opened this piece and read it. Now, all I want is to answer that question.

What place came to your mind, while reading?

Not places, but people.

I thought about my family, my friends and acquaintances I left in Italy: my forever friends, my motoclub, my dance friends. Then I moved to Australia and I thought about the 25 crazy Italians I met in Melbourne. My hike friends, met through Facebook. All my housemates in Tasmania, all those I met while working or not. All travellers I met in Thailand, while moving through hostels.

Each of them helped me, taught me something and has been with me for part of my life. I’ll meet some of them again, some others not but it’s ok. I felt home with each of them.

Maybe I’m still looking for the perfect place to be, the one I’ll live in forever, but maybe it doesn’t even exist. What I know is that I found people who made me feel home.

Wherever I was.

Maybe “home” is a feeling, a moment in time. Home makes me think about values like love, union, honesty, trust. Values a place itself can’t contain. I can definitely love a place in the world and feel combined with it but I can’t be honest or trust a place. It is nothing more than a spot in a map.

Travelers know, they know the beauty of a place largely lies in people, be it locals or travelers.

Then, let’s change the question: What do you think when I say “home”?

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