There is only one place that I have truly considered home throughout my lifetime. I have lived in several different places, but I know that home will always be the house in which I spent my childhood. It is strange, now that I have finally moved further than an hour away, I find myself referring to "home" more and more often. Although, the further and further I get, the more ambiguous it becomes. When you're in the same city, it refers to the specific house; when you're outside of the city it refers to the city itself; when you're out of the state, it refers to the state. Now, though, being out of the country, I find "home" to mean the United States. I find this strange simply because I have always had an inkling that there was Swedish-ness (as my brother so eloquently refers to it) in me. That is to say, having been born in Sweden to a Swedish father, but being raised in the US, I had always been confused as to where I could honestly say I came from. Now however, it has been made painstakingly clear that I am American.
In America I was unique in that I was born elsewhere and came to the states, and I could speak another language. This was what caused me trouble. I knew very few people that were in the same situation as me, and I didn't know what that meant for my origins. In Sweden, however, everyone is from somewhere else, or is bilingual, and being from somewhere usually means that they were born and raised there, as opposed to "three generations past, my family moved here from [country]." I am no longer confused about my origins. And this confuses me. I am certainly proud of my Swedish heritage, but as of right now, the extent of my Swedish-ness simply lies in my language skills, and my citizenship. The certainty of my American-ness is slowly creeping into my head, and I am realizing that America is where my roots are and where my heart goes when thinking of "home."
The real confusion comes when I realize that I haven't quite started missing home as much as I should. Maybe I'm still riding the excitement of the move. Of course I miss the people, and that's what home really is all about, but my mind hasn't quite grasped the concept and I am not there yet. My mind does wander to home and the people there, but it wanders more to my future in Sweden and the things that I have to look forward to. The fulfillment of a dream that I have long nurtured seems to hold more weight than that of the friendships that I am putting on hold, but I know that every single one of the people that I grew close to at home will always be those to whom I can turn. The comfort that I find in the security of my past no doubt allows to me look upon the uncertainty of my future with unwavering confidence, despite my fears and trepidations.
I don't miss home more than I do because I haven't really left it yet. My friends and family at home are helping me get through any troubles that I am having, whether they know it or not, and home is all about keeping people close to you that can help you when you need it. I will always have someone to bring me "home."