The weather here in Scotland has been so oddly beautiful these past few days (look at me, ruining your stereotype), and it made me think back to last summer. When the days were long and full of light. The sun was kissing my feet when I walked barefoot in the never ending garden. The squirrels played around me, and the trees whispered words of support to my tired ears.
I lost my home a week before leaving back to England for the summer. My grandmother passed away and she took a piece of me with her. But my home was still there, in a different country – the community that never let me down, the community I always relied upon. The community I call my home because home is where people welcome you with open arms and give you all the space you need without making you feel guilty for needing it.
Last summer I lived for the silence and the whispers of nature. Being outside was my daily drug. At night, after everybody went to sleep, I would go outside, lay on the grass and watch the stars – making up stories in my head of which one my grandmother became.
One night, I was doing just that when a fox came to me and stood there looking at me for a few minutes. It was the most peaceful thing to have ever happened to me. I felt connected. Up until that point I felt uprooted, lost, and not quite myself. During that moment I knew that the universe has me – I stopped feeling scared. It was the stars, the fox, and me. The trio. Three points from different parts of the universe, connected, for that one moment.
I don’t look for home in places or people anymore. I rely upon myself to be the home that I need. I look at the trees and the skies, point my face towards the wind – and that is when I feel at home. Within this world, I carry home securely inside my heart.