What the hell’s a home?
And what the hell’s a house?
I think it’s a place but I’m not certain,
I keep hearing it’s a person,
So then who the hell’s a home?
And what the fuck’s a flat?
Because I know I am not that,
I am not my home,
And what happens to a home,
If you demolish a house?
Moreover, what if you remember,
A city that never existed,
That you constantly long to visit,
And you decide to stay or to go,
And then when you return again,
To some place you’ve never been
So what the hell’s home?
Does anybody know?
"What the hell's a home?" was written mid-way through my third-year university exchange in Aarhus, Denmark. While I have been interested in the concept of 'home' for some time now, in Denmark, I got some practical experience and was able to try to suss out the psychological ramifications of changing everything about one's home. This TED Talk kicked off my initial interest in the idea, and I have published this poem alongside a matching blog post, on experiencing time and home abroad. The photo used as the thumbnail for this entry is looking out from my rain covered flat window in Aarhus. Thanks for reading.