Where is home?

As a child, whenever I found myself in a challenging situation, the first thought that crossed my mind was: "I want to go home." For most of us "home" represents love, warmth and, of course, a nurturing familiarity. However, today, with people moving across continents and oceans, and migrating to distant lands, the definition of "home" has become ambiguous, even inscrutable. The notion of a permanent abode is now more a set of memories rather than a physical location. For example, given my itinerant lifestyle, my memories are scattered in several places and I often wonder where home is for me!
My earliest recollection of a home is a sprawling bungalow on a hilltop in Chittagong where I spent hours chasing butterflies in the garden under a clear blue sky. Today, home is a house in McLean, Virginia where each evening the ochre light of the setting sun filters through the heavy branches of four tall oak trees shading the backyard. The environment and setting are a world apart but the feelings of shared comfort and warmth are the same. Fortunately, our boundless imagination permits us to dwell simultaneously in many locations. As a result, wherever we are, we can build a home by transposing our past memories into our present situation.
I have often wondered what my life would have been if, like many of my friends, I had lived in the same city for most of my childhood and adult years. It would be different, no doubt. There would have been a sense of comfort in waking up each morning to familiar surroundings, sounds and faces. Moreover, I could be assured of a solid support system, a network of reliable friends, and an overall sense of stability related to operating in a known environment. In contrast, a dislocated life creates a degree of uncertainty, even anxiety, because the familiar is swept away and forging new relationships can be challenging. Despite the fact that I have been through this transition for at least half a dozen times, I have not suffered from insecurities or xenophobia. Fortunately, I found most people open, accepting, and considerate -- one only needs to extend a hand of friendship and inspire confidence.
Of course, there are challenges. The constant effort to integrate into an alien culture and the pain of missing friends and family can be mentally corrosive. Thankfully, we live in times when the email, cell-phone and Skype have made it possible for us to stay connected, even on a minute to minute basis. But nothing can compensate for the physical presence of the loved ones we leave behind. The caring embrace of a parent, the tender grip of a grandchild or even the spontaneous visits by friends for a casual cup of tea cannot be transported through Skype or Facebook. And the intense longing for the familiar touch, sound and smell persists in every bend of our roving life.
The question is: "Why do folks migrate or relocate despite the strong gravitational pull of their homes and childhood memories?" Frankly, there is no simple explanation since people move for a variety of overlapping reasons. In my view, the overpowering motivation is the desire to build a better and, may be, more affluent life. There are also some who leave home to seek education and temporary employment with a clear mindset that they shall return home, eventually. It is the latter that excruciate the most -- constantly oscillating between the life they leave behind and the one they cherish but are hesitant to embrace. Last but not the least, people like me move because we have been thrown out of our orbit by the forces of destiny. Whatever the reasons for migrating, the key is not to dwell on "what could have been." It's best to accept the culture of one's adopted home and seize the opportunities that the present moment offers.
Despite all their efforts to integrate, most immigrants struggle with a dual identity. As much as I love the United States, where I have truly been accepted as an individual with "inalienable rights," a part of me will always dwell in Bangladesh where my roots are. Somewhere deep within, there is a nagging feeling that something is missing. It's a sad, sweet yearning called nostalgia. The American author, poet, actress and civil rights activist, Maya Angelou, describes this dilemma in a few simple words: "You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right."

The writer is a renowned Rabindra Sangeet exponent and a former employee of the World Bank.