Small girl, big world.

I’m writing this at 1.51am on a Saturday night, alone, tired and dealing with a serious case of boredom snacking.

All of this really has nothing to do with this blog post but we all know the feelings and thoughts the early hours of the morning brings. For me, it’s overthinking, one of my definite weaknesses and something I often find claustraphobic and consuming. Tonight it’s no different.

The subject of these thoughts is home and a sense of belonging and all this thinking's got me thinking some more.

I’m now 20 years old. I’ve been walking the earth for two decades; I’ve stepped on foreign soil in more countries than I have toes. I grew up in the Middle East, half my family is in the UK.

That’s a lot of background.

And, I’m proud, I’m proud of where I’ve come from and the blood that runs through my veins. I’m proud of my history, of my ancestors who fled Ireland during the potato famine or the ones who came to New Zealand in the hopes of a better future and a life expectancy over the age of 25. With family who have paved the way for me and brought me into this world you’d think I’d know who I am and where I belong. Alas, I do not and this long winded explanation is my way of saying that home for me is very hard to establish.

If someone asked me who I was I would say I’m an British-Kiwi, my Dad is British to the bone and my Mum’s family have been in New Zealand for hundreds of years. I emigrated here when I was a child and have been a citizen ever since.

In a broad sense New Zealand is home, when I go away I miss it and when I’m overseas I’m identified by it from my ridiculous accent. However, in saying this I’m finding it very difficult to nail down one place where my heart, as cheesy as it sounds, feels full. A few weeks ago I was at my family home. With 12 acres of green paddocks to wander, Dad’s home cooked meals and Mum’s hugs I would say I felt very comfortable, to the point where I had to wipe away tears when I had to say goodbye and return to adult life. I think I got caught at a fragile time.

But, if someone were to ask me where I'm from, right now I would say Auckland. I mean it’s where I work, where I live and where I have independence. And although I love it, most of the time I wouldn’t call it ‘home’, it's more of a lifestyle (more on this in my previous blog post).

And then I think about other places that have a strong hold over my heart like Christchurch, the quake city. It’s the place my love for journalism grew, full of endless potential and somewhere that will be fondly remembered for my days as a student. The two years we spent together were unlike anything I had ever experienced and I left feeling nostalgic and with a massive pile of debt.

Christchurch was home for a while and a part of me will still remain there forever.

Just like part of me will always yearn for my British home. With family spread across the country and spending a good chunk of my childhood there, I always feel a sense of familiarity and comfort when I step off that plane at Heathrow.

There’s that old saying that home is where the heart is and in some respect that couldn’t be more true. Home is where you have loved ones and memories and comfort, all things that the heart wants.

I also read somewhere that home isn’t always a place, it could be a person or a memory or where you are right at this very moment.

Both of these theories are very true and both are very relevant. One the one hand I know who I am on paper and where I come from through history records. On the other hand, I can't place my finger on a map and be confident that that is where I belong. In retrospect the thought of ‘home’ comes under a massive umbrella and believe me, I could spend all day boring the pants off everyone reading this (if you’re not bored already that is) by going around in circles about finding home.

I could also probably sit here for the rest of the night driving myself up the wall but really when it comes down to it, home can’t always be given a definition or location, sometimes it won’t be found until later in life and for some it may be never found at all, as sad and lonely as that sounds. Maybe what we all need to rememeber when we’re feeling tired and confused is that home can be lots of places and when you close one door another will probably open if you let it. I think at the end of the day (literally) what this comes down to is a case of homesickness and feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. I'm a small girl in a big world who is still trying to find out what she wants, who she is and where she belongs.

It’s now 3:30am and this word vomit probably won’t make sense in the morning. I’ll be tired and grumpy and look like I’ve seen better days but at least this late night experience might help me to finally sleep.