Is Homesickness A Person?

on re-defining what home means to me.

Home. A noun to describe “the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household”.

It fascinates me that something that is so deeply emotional is defined solely as a material object. A place. Upon first thought, you might imagine a building that puts a roof over your head, with a front door and a few windows. It might be big, it might be small, it might feel safe, it might not, it might be your own home, it might be a family home. Although a home, categorically speaking, is a place where one lives, we all have our various depictions of what ‘home’ is. So, what is home, really?

I was inspired to write this article after having felt a little homesick while being at my boyfriend’s house for the weekend. A usual occurrence for me, staying over at his family home, yet I wondered why I was feeling this yearning for my own home.

The concept of home to you might be something completely different to me. Yet, the beauty in what we call ‘home’ is the feeling that is settled in our hearts when we find ourselves ‘at home’ - if that makes sense. To me, it’s a feeling that brings warmth, surrender, peace, tranquillity, safety, and love.

I always question when people say, “I feel so far away from home”, or “I feel at home”. What is it that they really mean in these statements? Are they referring to the house that is theirs? The books that perch on their shelves, the food that brings them comfort, and the bed that gifts them a good night's sleep. Or is it the people who live inside of the home? Are they referring to home as a person instead?

Home, for me, is my mother, my boyfriend, and my brother. They are the people who make me feel at ‘home’. What does the feeling look like? Well, I’d say it’s similar to coming in from the rain, soaked from head to toe, slipping into warm pyjamas, popping on the kettle, and receiving a long hug from somebody you love. Or the quiet comfort of Sunday mornings, the smell of toast and coffee in the air, the low hum of the radio, and the soft presence of someone you love just being there. Just envision these feelings. It’s a wonderful feeling of serenity.

Home for me also is the muffled noises of footsteps downstairs as I type away on my laptop, it’s the sound of my dog barking as he looks for attention, it’s the conversations and murmurs I can just about hear as I’m brushing my teeth. It’s the TV crackling in the background as I come home from outside. It’s the clanging of forks as we sit down for dinner. It’s the smell of old spice and sandalwood, home-cooking, and lemon-drizzle cake. Home is also my bedroom, that’s comforted me through terrible times at secondary school, filled with fairy lights, dried flowers, and crystals.

Home to you might be your friend, your favourite cafe, or the city that you live in. Home might be an object. A candle scent, a childhood mug or a teddy bear. Home might be a ritual like your morning cup of tea, your evening set up in your bedroom, or switching the fairy lights on and reading a good book.

What home isn’t is, overcrowded streets, feeling alien to a place unknown, the rush of strangers brushing past without a glance, the feeling of being swallowed up by noise, of standing still while the world speeds by, new locations where the air smells different and nothing feels quite yours, silences that feel too sharp, walking down roads where no one knows your face, where every corner feels like it belongs to someone else. It’s feeling unanchored in an unfamiliar place.

I think all of us carry little pieces of ‘home’ everywhere we go, and that’s quite wonderful. It gives us a small bit of comfort wherever we are in the world. Like a family recipe that your mother taught you when you were younger, or a certain piece of jewellery that reminds you of a certain person, or a childhood cuddly toy that you pack alongside you on your travels, or it might be a certain perfume that reminds you of old times’ sake. One whiff of Girl of Now by Ellie Saab and I am taken back to Summer 2021…

So perhaps home isn’t just one thing at all. Instead, it’s a patchwork quilt of people, places, scents, songs, dogs, dinners, and objects.

The older I get, the more I realise that 'home' is less of a fixed state. It’s something fluid. Evolving. It’s shaped by the people I love, the routines I form, and the memories I carry. My definition of home might change. It will be added to, changed, and altered as I grow older. And sometimes that can feel tough to accept.

The concept of home is fragile. As we grow older, we will redefine what home looks like to us, and that’s bittersweet. So, of course, I feel fearful of losing my sense of home, but I will have the opportunity to construct something where I belong again.

Home isn’t just bricks or walls. It’s love, warmth, and belonging, stitched quietly into the fabric of the everyday. It’s my mother’s laughter, my boyfriend’s arms after a long day, my brother’s singing echoing through the room. They are my constants. The ones who make the world feel steady.

So, what does home mean to you?

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About Dazy Mag

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