Thoughts, Travel, 日本語



Skytree from the window on the 13th floor of a hotel where I stayed.


For many people, the thought of leaving their hometown permanently is a horrifying, unthinkable possibility. Even when we’ve grown up dreaming of seeing the world, so many never step foot outside of the city, the state, or the region that they’ve grown up in. When I tell people of the places I’ve been and where I want to go—aside from Japan—I’m often met with either curiosity or disparagement. How dare I leave my home? How dare I leave family and friends? Don’t I ever get homesick?

Apart from the “meh” response I often give, I try to explain that my definition of “home” has never been a concrete place. Home is the warmth in my heart when I’m laughing with my mother over our antics. Home is the comfort of an embrace. Home is the scent of fresh linens and cinnamon. Home is in the eyes of family when they see me. Home is that place on my yoga mat where I’m grounded to the earth and connected to my kinesphere. I’ve found a sense of home in so places and in so many people that I can’t pin it down.

And so when I found a quote by Julie Delpy that says succinctly, “My roots are inside me,” I was like, “Yep, that hits the nail on the head.”

My roots are inside me.

It conjures up so many images.

But for that reason, I have a never-ending sense of fernweh, of wanderlust. Even living in Japan, where I am ultimately pleased with my surroundings, I still want to see the Rocky Mountains in America, eat at a genuine French café, visit Romania and see Dracula’s castle, witness the stunning architecture in Abu Dhabi, and take yoga at a Hindu temple in New Delhi. I will settle in Japan, but I will never stop moving.









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