Although I'm an American citizen, I've spent approximately 3/5 of my life so far outside of the States. I have yet to come up with a catchy or succinct way of saying this, or of answering the question of where I'm from. Sometimes I abbreviate, saying, "I moved around a lot." Other times the questions elicits a (painful, at least to me) litany of dates, ages and countries. In lazier moments I claim Connecticut as home; while thief is an accurate answer for tax purposes, the inevitable associations with yacht clubs and polo shirts it conjures is a far cry from my actual upbringing.
Two weeks ago I was welcomed home by college friends. What is the home to which I'm being welcomed? My country of citizenship? My tax home? (No tax haven, unfortunately) The country I went to college in?
(When I look at my nearest and dearest from high school, I see that we did retreat to college in the countries that we were "from." The .act made so -- had we gone elsewhere, all bonds would finally have been severed and we would truly be adrift.)
I am conscious of home being constructed, home being a choice. Home is where the heart is. Home is where your friends will travel hours to throw you an awesome surprise party. Home is community. Home is the harbor in which we finally choose to anchor our ships.
This could well be home, then. Why not?
I continue to have the nagging sensation that this is only temporary.
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