It may seem obvious that one of my first posts here is about origins. For some, home is where one was born and raised, for others is where they feel good and comfortable. Most would agree that it is where one would gladly go and spend time with their family and friends. Familiarity breeds content.

Visiting my parents’ house in Romania a couple of years ago, I realized that most of my memories from Romania are from when I was a child — being overwhelmed by what felt like 2 meters high of snow outside our apartment in December, declining to go home for dinner amidst exciting street games with lots of kids during long summer evenings, or being snapped by neighbours when we’d steal carrots from their garden — or as a teenager walking home from high school and being mesmerized by the incredible scent of spring in April. These are all places where I knew every corner and every bus that ran along our street.

I also remember though waiting at an intersection light the other day in Victoria, and where I now have my own family and my kids are building their own memories of home. I saw the cars crossing in the other direction, noted the gas station in the corner, the walkin clinic where I so many times brought my kids in the evening and the Safeway just across the street from where I religiously stop to get the prescribed medicine. It definitely felt overwhelmingly familiar, and I bet I could have driven through that intersection with my eyes closed (don’t do this at home!) and knowing where everything was without a fault. It definitely felt like I lived there for my entire life, everything simply made sense and it felt like it should. It felt like home. My memories from my new home are rather different from those in Romania, as a mother, teacher, colleague and friend. A new life. And a place that now feels like home, and where I am now creating memories for my children.

Where does it feel home for you?