Where is Home?

by Kerod Dargaze

I come from open land and clear skies,
where the air smelled like spices and soil.
I played soccer every day with my brother,
stayed out late, came home tired but happy.
The neighbors felt like a family that was looking out for us.
That place taught me how to live with less,
how to pay attention, and how to dream of more.

My dad won a lottery for citizenship.
They said we were lucky but it felt scary and full of pressure.
Some people were jealous.
Even before I left, I felt like I was already gone.
And when I arrived, I didn’t know anyone.
The streets felt strange and I didn’t know where I fit in.
I stayed home a lot, alone with my thoughts.
Home became a memory I kept quietly inside me.

I held onto what stayed the same, which was the food, the prayers, the faith.
They reminded me of who I was.
At first, I held on tightly because that was all I had.
But over time, I learned to relax,
to let them support me, not hold me back.
My parents reminded me of my roots, of where I came from,
even when the world outside felt different.

Now, I feel like I belong.
I’ve grown because of what I’ve been through.
I know how lucky I am.
I feel wiser, even if not stronger.
And now, home isn’t a place on a map it’s where I feel safe,
where I’m happy,
where I can just be me.