Home is so hard to define. Home is the familiarity of ones own country, city, or routines. Home is friendships forged through shared experiences, living in someone’s country. Given time, good will and perseverance, home is the familiar faces and features of anywhere. Years can go by, but good friendships seem to reconnect without effort. Ten weeks living on the generosity of friends, in the country of my passport has been indescribably easy and comfortable. The grief of missing people gone or left behind, wells up at unexpected moments, at a sunset or a song, a kind gesture or a fragrance. Lifes’ routines of chatting over coffee, beach walking, feeding animals, gardening, cooking and creating (pottery shisa in Australia) is grounding. The work of deciding where home will be next has been hard work. Work consisting
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