There was a moment I caught myself thinking that I don’t want to go home. That when I go home, I’m not going to feel like home.
That my home is not gonna be a home like it used to be.
I felt pretty lost.
But I felt awfully free and independent.
My mother, whenever we’re staying in a hotel room often refers to it with the word ”home”. My sister always says ”Mom it’s not home.” But why? How do you define home?
To me it’s not a house, city or a country. When it’s easy to be myself, when I feel free and being loved, I’m home.
Brest, Bretagne, now. I guess I’m home.