I’ve been missing home recently thinking about the holidays, but I didn’t really stop to think about what home actually meant until Friday.
Friday was the toddlers last day and one of the last times I’d be able to see them. I sat and thought about how crazy it is that I fell into a normal routine here in Malaysia. I woke up everyday and spent 8 hours with the same 1-3 year olds. Each day was pretty much the same, but also not because everyday with mini adults is different. I looked around while they were eating lunch, and I was in awe that I’m in a different country right now so far away from everything I know; yet, somehow it’s all so familiar. I know these people. I know the kids. I know my way around our block. And I know almost every square inch of Pavilion Mall (thank you, Cammy Thompson).
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia feels like home.
Home
•the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household•
By that definition of home, I guess I don’t technically have one seeing as I’m traveling the world, staying in hostel after hostel. I’m not quite sure what I thought the definition would be when I looked it up, but honestly when I read this one word it kind of shook me: permanently.
I don’t know why I felt offended. It’s not like google is telling me I don’t have a home, but it made me rethink my own definition of the word. I permanently lived in my house in good ole Piedmont, South Dakota for 18 years, and I very much still consider that home. Now, however, I’m living in a “quaint” hostel in Malaysia and this honestly feels like home to me, too. I even catch myself calling it that every now and then.
My house in South Dakota isn’t a mansion… we have 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a very cozy living room, and a nice backyard… homey right? Here in Malaysia my team and I have been living on the 4th floor of a school building. After hiking up 85 stairs, we reach the top where there are 7 rooms (some have 1 person in them some have 3), but we all share 2 bathrooms and one hallway/kitchen. My team of 8 + our 1 squad leader staying with us have been sharing this space with 3 other people who live here working for the same organization we’ve been volunteering for. The walls are thin. Literally… if you lean against them too hard they might fall. We have 1 real couch, 1 rolling chair, and a makeshift “couch” made out of old mattresses. At first glance this hostel does not seem homey in the slightest, and by google’s definition I guess it’s not our home. But for the last month it has sure felt like it.
SO, I like the definition of live a lot more.
Live
•make one’s home in a particular place or with a particular person•
On the World Race we aren’t really permanently anywhere. There is an end date to our time in each country at each ministry and for the overall race. I know I’ll leave Malaysia later this week. And I know after 3 months in Costa Rica and 3 more in Ecuador, I’ll be back in the states. I’m not permanently residing in any of these places, but that doesn’t make them feel any less like home to me. It sounds super cheesy to say “home is where the heart is,” but it’s legit. I’m 8,806 miles away from my family, friends and my house in SD, but I’ve made a home here with my team and the people I’ve met. We sit on our makeshift couch and watch movies, hangout, laugh, and even cry. Sometimes, we just sit in silence, but it feels like home because of the relationships I’ve built within my team. So, last night, as I sat on our dirty mattress couch watching a ridiculously creepy movie with some of the people I love, I felt the most at home since I left, and my heart is full.
