‘Where is home?’

I hate that question.

It sometimes comes as a comments. It’s sometimes a question. It’s sometimes a bit of both. Either way it’s annoying to me, because I cannot claim to have one home. Home is not where I was raised 30 years ago, or where my parents were raised.

I have had many homes. Home is where I am at in that moment. It was Athens. It was Nottingham. It was London. It was Dubai. Until last year it was Copenhagen. It is now Toronto.

Home is where I feel safe to raise my children and make a life for myself.