A Place to call Home
Citizens of the world — or just globally homeless?
I have only ever fallen in love at first sight twice.
First, when I was just 16. I was spending the summer at a language boarding school in Oxford and, despite their strict curfew, somehow found myself on regular solo escapades to London (oh to be underage and reckless again) The weather was mostly horrible from what I can remember, I had Oasis ‘Familiar to Millions’ live album on repeat in my earphones, — and a pair of shoes that were not up to the challenge of British rainfall. None of that mattered. My most vivid memory was standing under a soggy umbrella on the South Bank, somewhere near Southwark Bridge, a wild smile on my face. It was the first time in my life I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted to live in London. I have always been an ambitious child, but ever since that trip, I turned unstoppable. Less than a year later I was back: I managed to win some competition and get myself onto an international delegation to the UK courtesy of the British Council. That trip only solidified the mission and, lo and behold, I was starting my new life in London, age 19. My first true love and I were together at last.
I would like to make an official statement: when you are 20 and broke, but also hungry, fearless and up for taking life by the balls, — there is no place more fun, fulfilling, eye-opening and inspiring, than London. When I look back at my early twenties, I feel like I’ve done it right. I’ve done it like a rock star. In one good-old, beaten leather jacket, in a pair of faithful Dr Marten’s boots, and with a portfolio of ridiculous, reckless mistakes, which still make my head spin. Ok, my London love affair didn’t quite last as long as I’d imagined, but what first love ever does? By the time I graduated Uni, the big bad recession of 2008 had hit pretty hard, and after a rather hopeless year, it was clear to me: no love is worth losing yourself over. It was time to go.
Before I could even properly figure out what next, I was head over heels in love again. This time, with an exotic, unexpected candidate: Trinidad.
Boy, I don’t even know where to begin with that one. Anyone who’s experienced Trinidad around 2009–2011 in any shape or form would know what I mean: it was a special place, with creative energy enough to power the hemisphere, the globe, the universe if we had to. The freedom, the hopefulness, the possibilities! A small island in the middle of the ocean was bigger than the world to me and everyone I knew back then, all of us drinking from the same, seemingly bottomless Kool-Aid barrel. Just remembering those days gives me goosebumps. When I look back at the entirety of my life, there hasn’t been a time happier than those years. Never have I, an alien in so many ways, belonged so intensely to a place. Never have I been more electrified, more aware of fate’s inner workings to change the course of my life forever.
Alas, this love affair was also destined for disillusionment. After 5–6 years, the golden era of Trinidad was over, and not just for me. Slowly, more and more people who sparked and influenced me in those years chose to find themselves elsewhere. As for me, I found my new home in the man I loved, and together we left Trinidad in search of a new place to fall in love with. It’s been more than 4 years. We’ve lived in countries from South-East Asia to South America, and most recently, in the Pacific North West. We are still searching.
I can’t say if getting older makes this kind of magic harder to come by; if our expectations are too high, or our demands too specific. I can tell you this much: I sob every time I land in Trinidad. It still tugs at my heartstrings, like that lover that you cannot resist for yet another one night stand, despite knowing full well there is no future for the two of you. Trinidad has spoilt me. The easiness, the spontaneity, the effortless connection with the most amazing, most diverse humans; the fun, the genuine love of life, the endless bacchanal, the Party. Everywhere is boring and complicated by comparison.
And so we continue to try on places and lifestyles, like clothes in a costumes store. A villa in Bali, surfboards on a scooter rack, as we come back from the sunrise session; a condo in Santiago, the Andes towering over a 7 million people metropolis, me buying strawberries at my local fruit stand in the middle of January; cosying up by the fireplace in rain-soaked Vancouver, delicious sushi delivered by a man on a bicycle straight to our door… So many more skins to try, but to what end?.
Does it all really come down to simply being in the perfect place at a perfect time in your life? If so, where is my perfect now? It sure is not where I currently live. In a world so big, how weird it is to feel so claustrophobic, so running out of options? For the so-called citizen of the world, why do I feel so homeless? And worst of all, what if I’ll never fall in love again?.
