Thoughts about home, from someone who makes their own

Home has become a shifting thing, a hydra place. It follows me wherever I go and it waits for me when I return. 

Home is no longer a single place. Home is where I come from, my parents house, my hometown. Home is Canada. 

Home is my room in London, telling work stories with my roommate, eating pizza at midnight. 

Home is whatever hostel I'm staying at, in whatever country I'm visiting. 

Last week when I was in Germany, home was my friend's house, where her parents were kind enough to let me stay. 

It must get confusing for people, to hear me refer to "home" so ubiquitously. But it isn't arbitrary. Each place that I call home feels like home while I'm there. Wherever I live becomes my home, no matter how impersonal the space or how short my stay. 

That's the beauty of travelling, I suppose. You have so many homes, because you leave part of your heart in so many places.