I have come to realize that home is not a structure. It's not a house that makes a home, it's me that makes home. We are taught and socialized to understand our home as our house or some material structure in which all of those we consider family can share space and where our belongings can be, or something along those lines. And for some, this is home. For me, one thing that Korea taught me is that home is much more of a state of being than it is a house, a geographic location, or anything that is tangible.
While the house I grew up in has very much been my home, my true sense of home there belongs to the spaces between the paint splotches that are still on the floor in our basement where my dad's studio used to be. I still smell the beer on my dad's breath and can see that Special Export bottle sitting on the counter. I hear the classical music as it finds its way into every corner of that studio. And there's my dad, painting in his yellow and blue coach's hoody. My sense of home is in my old room remembering the plastic/vinyl shades that were in there when I was little and the way they sounded as they were being drawn at night when my parents would tuck my sister and me into bed and the feeling of love and security that even the sounds of shades being drawn evoked in me. Home is also the sound the shades made as they were being opened by my mom when she came to wake us up in the mornings when sleep still consumed my body and with heavy eyes that couldn't stay open, I retreated further into my warm blankets as the first light of a new morning came streaming into the room. These memories, even today with the paint blotches covered up, blinds instead of shades, and how I feel when I remember this make home for me.
Photography has also offered a sense of home for me in that I am truly out of my body and literally in with nature. This is the only thing that is truly meditative. When I can be outside standing in a stream, perched precariously on a rock wall, or laying in the dirt, grass, or snow trying to capture that perfect shot, everything fades away except for what I see in my viewfinder. And, it's not so much the physical pieces of the composition, although obviously that's there too, but it's the feeling, the smell, the emotion, the taste in the air, and the sounds that are abundantly present in every shot I take. Photography is such a sensory experience for me unlike anything else I have experienced. My mind and my body are at ease and things make sense without having to think about anything. The world in my photography realm is perfect and I feel completely whole and completely at peace. I am at home.
I remember being in college. I lived in the dorms my first year. Our beds were lofted and actually quite close to the ceiling as a result of poor measurement by my roommate's family who built the lofts. My first year of college in the beginning was pretty intense emotionally. And while my dorm room was certainly not home, what was home for me was a small patch of glow in the dark stars I had put on the ceiling just above my head. I would fall asleep every night looking at those stars listening to some relaxing music - ambient synthesizers, slow soft piano, low rumbling percussion - that carried my body away. In those brief moments before sleep consumed my body, looking at those plastic stars, and being overtaken by the beautiful music in my headphones, I was home.
As has been previously mentioned in some of my blogs, the night sky has always had a very significant meaning in my life. The night sky is my home. I could lay for hours and just lose myself in its awesomeness and mystery. The stars, the distant galaxies, the planets, the dark spaces between, and all of the questions and ponderings that I have sent up there to wander around until the next time I can visit - these all make up a feeling of home for me. Combining stargazing and photography, which I try and do often, creates the ultimate experience of closeness, completeness, and wholeness within myself.
Biking and running have also fostered a sense of home for me. It's not so much the act of doing it or even how I feel in terms of working out my body, but it's more in the tuning into the sound of my bike as the tires hum on the pavement, the clicks of the gears and movement of the chain, the turning over of the pedals, and the sound of the wind as my body and bike slice through. With running it's about the sounds of my feet hitting the pavement and the different sounds and pitches that change as I run through a sandy patch, a puddle, or crunch through the snow. It's the ability to cycle through my thoughts and my emotions from a place of objectivity, of feeling secure with myself, and of knowing that no matter what, things will be alright. Perhaps it's the endorphins that aid in this kind of thinking, feeling, and being, but I also think it's the result of being truly one with myself.
Feeling the pull and the draw of my body to my home home in Korea as I prepared for the trip, feeling the tug of the Yellow Sea as it willed me to stay while on the beach in Jeju, and feeling such emptiness for not only the land, but also the state of feeling whole and complete in Korea, taught me that home for me is a state of being and the sensory experiences that bring about memories and emotions that seem to fill in the holes in my life if even for only a moment. While the moments can be brief and fleeting, I take comfort in knowing that wherever I am, I can always go home.
