Travelling Home | What Home Means To Me

Travelling Home For Mother’s Day

The weekend before last I travelled home for Mother’s day. Travelling home felt different this time. It might have been because it was for a shorter time or maybe I’m used to Lincoln being my home now. It was strange. The actual act of travelling home, the journey, was nerve racking. For the first twenty minutes I didn’t know if I was on the right train. Luckily I was but it kind of set me on edge for the whole journey. When I got home though it was great.

I got to see my brother, my mum and my niece we spent most of the evening catching up. Then the next day we all went to Milton Keynes shopping centre. Me and my niece went off and did our own shopping. I manage to get a new top in the Topshop sale so I was happy. Finally, the next day it was Mother’s day. Mum loved her gifts and we went into town that morning to do MORE shopping.

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When my brother came to pick me up he had brought his dog with him. He has a British bulldog called Diesel. I want to say he’s adorable but that doesn’t seem appropriate. He snorts like a pig, has a smushed up face and walks like a gangster but I love him. Never let him fall asleep around you thought, he snores so loud the room shakes.

What I call Home and How Much It Means To Me

Travelling home got me thinking a lot about what I consider home. I always say ‘I’m going home this weekend’ but then I also call my home I Lincoln ‘home’. Not only that but the home I go to when I do go home isn’t my home, not my childhood home so I don’t consider it home. It’s confusing I know. So I wanted to talk about a few things I consider to be home.

What is Home?

Home is where you can be lazy and no one will mind.

Home is where your family and friends are.

Home is where you feel safe.

Home is being with the person you love.

Home is somewhere you keep things that are important to you.

Home is warm and cosy.

Home is where you are loved.

Looking at this list I probably have about 3,4 maybe even 5 homes. I know how lucky I am to even be able to say I have one home let alone three or four. I remembering moving houses when I was a kid but I didn’t find somewhere that felt like home until I started secondary school.

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The view from my old bedroom window in winter.

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My first home. The home I grew up in.

It was the home where I discovered my music tastes, what movies I wanted to watch, where I did all my revision, hung out with my friends, had parties. That home had its fair share of teenage angst to cope with but I think that’s why that place was the first place to feel like home. I felt safe. It was the place I really grew up in. Out of all the homes I have left behind the first will always be the hardest to let go of.

It was a great weekend and I wish I could’ve stayed longer but I was also glad to be. It just nice to be back be home, home home I mean. My home.

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