What is a home?

The easy answer might be a comfortable place to rest, a shelter from the world. But actually, home is a temporary space we inhabit before we are called to move again.

The great journey of life often pushes us away from the places that first shaped us, driven by a search for opportunities, a desire for adventure, or a simple longing for a fresh start.

We live in a world that urges us to chase bigger dreams and brighter horizons, often demanding we leave the places that shaped us. This is the great journey of life — the choice between the world outside and the world within.

Many of us face this crossroad. The world beckons with promises of career and new beginnings, while family and personal struggles can sometimes push us toward a fresh start. We make these choices, and we move on, building new homes far from the places we first called our own.

But what if you didn’t have to choose?

I used to believe my life’s story would be a journey of constant movement, a quest for new horizons. I was convinced that growth only happened by chasing bigger places and bolder experiences. But as I got older, I learned that life, like a river, often finds its own path.

Life gently carried me not to some far-off destination, but back to the quiet harbor of my hometown. In the end, the most profound journey wasn’t about where I went, but about finding a deep sense of belonging and purpose right where I was..

My hometown isn’t a bustling metropolis with a shining skyline or endless possibilities. By many standards, it’s a simple, quiet place that lacks the modern infrastructure and fast-paced energy that define so many other cities. Yet, it has given me a rare and beautiful gift: the security of a settled life.

While many of my friends and peers left in search of careers or a more exciting life, I was lucky enough to remain. I’ve spent my entire life here, and because of that, a sense of belonging has grown around me like a sturdy old tree.

I know the faces of the people in my community; they are as familiar as my own reflection. In the local market I know almost everyone by sight. In that deep familiarity, I have found a quiet strength and a sense of authority—not as a leader, but as someone fully known, fully accepted, and truly a part of the place.

This gift is a legacy passed down through my family, a story of two very different generations. My grandparents came to this town in British India in search of work. They were resourceful and resilient, moving from job to job and from one rented home to another.

They lived a whole life in this place, but never truly had a permanent stake in it. Their journey was one of constant motion, a lot of hard work, and a reflection of the economic and social realities they faced. They built a life, but they never truly had a home to call their own.

It was my parents, with the wisdom of those who had witnessed such transience, who finally planted the seed of our family’s future. They knew the value of permanence, and they made it their mission to build a house for themselves and their children.

They looked at every option, every patch of land, and finally chose a beautiful, if modest, spot in a peaceful part of town. The house itself was not a palace; it was a humble beginning, but it was ours. It was in that home that I spent most of my childhood.

At the time, my young mind couldn’t register what a blessing this was. I grew up with the simple, continuous flow of electricity and water. I never had to worry about a sudden outage or a dry tap. I took these things for granted, assuming they were a given for everyone.

But these perks existed because an ordinary family like ours was living in an area that was home to many ministers and bureaucrats. Even before we owned our house our rented accommodation was in the same area where I spent most of my childhood. It wasn’t until I grew older and heard others complain about these basic needs that the realization began to sink in.

I listened to people talking about their struggles—the scarcity of resources, the competition, the unspoken pressures that pushed them. I witnessed people struggling with things I had always considered normal, and only then did I begin to understand our fortune.

It took time for me to truly see it, but I eventually understood that what I had always considered normal was, for others, a kind of heaven. This was a place free of crime, with beautiful roads for walking and a climate so wonderful that the British once made it their summer capital.

My home isn’t just a place; it’s a continuation of my own story. It is the peace of knowing that no matter what changes outside its walls, the foundation of my life remains solid.

The truest definition of home, I’ve learned, isn’t about the grandness of its features, the size of its rooms, its a vibe. It is about the security and love that are woven into its very foundation, and the quiet comfort of staying in a world that always tells you to go. For me, home is this blessing, and it’s a gift I will always cherish.