Home

There are lots of “catch phrases” to convey the meaning of the word “home” as a psychological sentiment: “Home is where the heart is” is probably the most well known one. But there are others: “Home is where I feel safe”; “Home is where I feel protected”; “Home are my friends my mother my…”and so on. These are my interpretations and also someone else’s I’m sure.

If we think about the English word itself, “Home” is a warm word even when said in a harsh way it always sounds tender…”Home”. We almost feel the warm air that comes out of our mouth…Home. But since in the Portuguese language “Home” does not have the same deep meaning, I think the English word is far richer in meaning. Home as an “object” can be small, cosy and even a place where sometimes I don’t want to be. But it is always my final destiny. Home is my house. Home is my neighbourhood, my city, my country. And it is also a very deep feeling. For me starts to have sense when I’m far from what Home represents to me. That is known as “homesick”.

There were two times in my life when I really felt “homesick”. First when I was five years old. My mother was trying to get a job and things were not so well. I had to live with my grandmother (from my father’s side) for about six months, so I moved to Vila Real in the North of the country.

One day my mother went to visit me, as she often did whenever she could, and said: “this time you’re going to Lisbon with me." That was the moment when I felt the importance of home for me. During my stay there I had lots of sad moments because I missed my mother. But it wasn’t only that, I missed my little friends, my home, and my toys!

It was at that particular moment with that particular phrase that I felt how deep my feeling of being a Homesick “victim” was. I burst into tears of joy and I just kept asking my mother if it was for real. She never forgot that moment and neither did I. I was inexplicably happy. On that weekend I never lost my mother from my sight! And though I did feel very well treated by my grandmother and aunts, my heart was with my mother in Lisbon. My town, my place, my Home.



The second time was in 1999 when I made my first “big trip”, at least in distance. I had never been so far away from home. I had only travelled throughout Europe. When I arrived in Cuba with my boyfriend I had what I call a “one day depression” because it really just lasted for one day! I just wanted to get on the plane again and fly back home. My feelings and thoughts were very strange, almost as if someone had died; I had anguish inside me. I felt the huge distance that separated me from my “Home”, and an urge to speak with someone from across the Atlantic. Everything around me was so different. Not that I didn’t like it, but I felt detached, alone, sad. The next day I felt better. I saw the turquoise sea, talked with the people and tasted the food. I put away my “homesickness” in a “little box” for a month and had a hell of a time!

I don’t know about other people, but I guess the feeling of being homesick is very Portuguese; hence the word that we use with such frequency: “Saudade”.
For me Home is where I feel safe, with the ones I love. My safe heaven…