“Even reason forever lost its bottom. One could never rid oneself of the conviction-totally irrational, but appropriate for the times-that “actually” one should have perished in the gas ovens; that from this point on one is leading a “unforeseen” existence; that through emigration one is responsible for separating oneself from one’s home, to throw oneself into the yawning abyss of meaninglessness… From this point on one is consuming one’s own energy, not the energy that comes from the nurturing earth… A life in bottomlessness had begun”.
in Writings pp. xx Introduction, Edit by Andreas Ströhl
“To be unhomed is not to be homeless, nor can the ‘unhomely’ be easily accommodated in that familiar division of social life into private and public spheres”.
Homi K. Bhabha
The Location of Culture, 1994, pp.13
“the home is here, there, wherever one is led to in one’s movement”.
Trinh T. Minh-ha
elsewhere, within here – immigration, refugeeism and the boundary event. 2011, pp.30
“What we claim as home is a fantasme”
Touch to Affliction, 2006, pp.64
Any place… Temporarily.
Everywhere I sleep or lodge turns into home.
Some were just places, hotels, friends’ apartments, “beach cabinet”… My parents’ house. A few felt better than others yet I never felt home, neither now that I’m on my own.
That feeling went lost a long time ago. I’ll always be searching, looking for a place to prove me wrong, hoping for this constant feeling to go away. Now I know for sure: it’s me.
I have two countries. One I truly know, it’s the place that saw me grow… The other, it’s the place where I was born. For me, the sense of home fades with aging, like a wooden floor, and houses are what’s left when the comfort is gone.
— ARobin, 24, Chicago