Somedays I yearn for my home, where I come from? perhaps where I belong.

My home in my mind is the place I grew up.

The church bells through the city during lunch time

The Muezzin so zealous, the monring call to pray, sounds like one made in the middle of the day.

The beach, the sand under my feet, the smell of the draw of the day resting in baskets waiting to be picked up.

Nothing feels like my home like the two bricks, on the same line spaced out by measuring your two feet long and once it's witdth: your goal post.

They say "a piece of land, doesn't make your home" *

Even if on that land you've left behind so much, every news of death is like breaking away a piece of you

If that piece of land isn't home, could it be the one currently under my feet?

Cynical as it may seem, other days after being out for so long, home starts to feel where my bed rest.

Home stops being a place but a feeling. Getting into that 4 story building in Kharlsue feels like home.

The balcony of my grandpa looking over Lausannes feels like home

Home sometimes is with my best friend, when he visits, and singing jingles from the cartoons of our chilhood.

It may sound like every place could be home, but make no mistake, only certain places are.

Hearing people killed because of they are of the same skin tone as you makes you doubt

The joy you feel driving back into the city, looking at the lights, the overpass over the bridge,

Passing the stadium, and knowing where you live is only 3 miles away.

That joy reeks guilt, feels like, someone invited you into their home, and you've mistaken it for yours

and then you remember.

You could wake up by a muezzin call in Karachi, and that will never feel like home.

Those goal post could be in the sands on the beach of Rio and still won't be home

What made it home, is who you shared it with.

Home is a place, it's a feeling, it's a nostalgia, made and felt because of the kindness and welcoming someone expressed towards you.

Home is those you share those moments with, those who you love, and perhaps never always in your sight, but they would have made one bit closer,

More than any others: HOME