Redefining

When I was younger, I would tell everyone that "home is where your playlist is". Home can be anywhere, as long as you have your music to keep you happy. Later on, the postulate changed to "home is where your playlist & internet connection are". Now I'm working on the updated version. It just isn't that easy anymore. 

Whenever I'm away, be it for two days, a few months, a year or more, home is the place where I set camp. I need my very basics - my music, my internet connection, my beauty rituals, and then it's like magic. That place becomes home. I've called "home" all sorts of hotels, from the fancy ones to those reminding me of the few years I've experienced in a communist regime, the apartments that I rented in different cities, the apartments that my friends rented (I'm sorry for all the keys I've lost), I even called "home" the red tent we lived in by the sea, that summer, for almost two months. Of course, I called "home" my parents' place. And the orange room that I painted & decorated myself. 

"Home" is my room in Kato, in the student dorm, although I'm rather dissatisfied with the smoke-detectors and the walls, which could really use a new layer of paint. The thing is, not only Kato, but my parents' place, Bucharest (and all possible homes over there) - they're all just stops along the way. None of them is the final destination. What's worse is that I have no idea which is the final destination. It's like speeding down a road that's only partly familiar, towards a  big question mark. There's nothing mine, nothing stable, nothing permanent, everything can be easily packed in a few boxes and moved away to some other destination, the final one, or just another stop along the way.

I'd probably be sad if this didn't give me a taste of freedom never before experienced.