Home

By Yue

In graduate school, I met a renowned economics professor who asked me a question that puzzled him, not so academically, but a personal curiosity for the true meaning of “why do people want to have a home?” At first, it seemed simple, who wouldn’t want a place to call their own? But then I realized how deep this question goes, beyond economics and utility functions. I did not have an answer, but I couldn’t forget this question. And turns out, it became my own puzzle on this journey of life.

Growing up in China, I lived in three different cities. I was born in Suzhou, where my home was divided between my parents’ modest house and my grandmother’s traditional courtyard. Fleeting memories yet forever etched into my existence, places I visit when I close my eyes.

After my parents divorced, my mother and I moved to Nanjing, living briefly with my stepfamily. My mother’s second marriage unraveled soon after a quarrel, when out of anger my stepfather kicked me. We left that home and found refuge in an abandoned office building near my junior high school. This became our “home,” where we cooked on portable stoves and kept the lights off at night to not draw attention. Eventually, my mother’s work awarded her an affordable apartment, we settled down in Nanjing, and I completed junior high with the highest grades of my class.

To give me a better future, my mother gave up her time with me and sent me to a high school in Yangzhou, where I stayed with my father’s family. My grandparents, my father’s parents, took care of me and later moved away. I stayed in their house on the campus of the high school and lived by myself for three years, focusing on intense high school studies. My mother’s Nanjing home, where I returned after high school and throughout college, later changed to an investment property as she moved back to Suzhou, my hometown.

While so many places offered shelter, some of them even felt like home, but no one place felt quite permanent, and now they are all gone. Now, over twenty years have slipped by since I last celebrated Chinese New Year in China, the memories of home have often condensed into the taste of Chinese food and that’s all.

My road continued to twist and turn, in the United States, trying to find my own home. My graduate school years at the University of Maryland were marked by a series of “upgrades,” from sleeping on the floor, to a day bed, from a few communal apartments to apartments of my own, with my husband. I moved seven times in a couple of years. Each relocation brought me to better neighborhoods and more inviting spaces, accumulating more “things”. Then life took me to California, a few more cities and rentals.

Finally, I owned a home, thanks to my then-husband.  It was a mansion filled with stuff, like the ones in suburban Bethesda, the ones I used to joke no one would want to pay for. We enjoyed the comforts of wealth and created beautiful memories as our children grew up.  But after the divorce, we had to sell it, home became another past and all that “stuff” was gone with the wind.  Another puzzle piece pushed aside in the map of life.

I am back to the question again: what is home? When it disappears, how to continue? I reminded myself that sometimes home could be where familiar people are, our family.

I have several tattoos, each chosen and designed by me to remember “home.” One of them is for my grandmother – “wai pó”, who became my home in ways she never knew. In her later years, I became an American living in the States, but I felt deeply connected to wai pó. Despite her reputation for being quick-tempered, I always saw her as a wise, loving presence. When I was growing up, I would join her at the senior center, where I was the only child among her friends, and they affectionately called me “little moon.” Even after moving abroad, her warmth stayed with me. She was my root. She was the face of home. As a proud granddaughter I invited her to my graduation and took her to see the Grand Canyon. I remember well when she stood at the marvel and said to me “this is the most beautiful place I have ever seen.”

When she said those words, they kind of stayed with me. I felt she was almost saying that she was so content, it was a moment so perfect that she could die with peace. I also remember such a moment, after my first-born son was born, I felt that, that feeling of pure peace, the perfect home. Many say home is where your children are, and they speak of “responsibility.” But to me, it’s the innocence of their love that stands true. So many times, during the pandemic, tough moments, I felt home because my children were so inspiring. It’s me who needed them more than they who needed me. Now that my children are growing into their adulthood, where will my home be?

Today when I visit California, I spend evenings with my younger son playing games. I realize he doesn’t need much from me; we simply enjoy each other’s company. Cooking him meals, listening to music, and practicing driving at night, these moments are small but grand. I know they won’t last long, and that knowing is more precious than anything; that awareness is the treasure that truly lasts forever. This is something that has slowly become clear to me during meditation.

Without meditation, my life in the past three years would have been very different. Coming to the local meditation center feels so good at this time, a new year, a celebration. I realized how much this place has become a place of peace and comfort for me. I also realized that this feeling of home is less about a physical place, but about what I have learned, the steps toward knowing myself…… after all, in knowing myself there is a clue to the question.

Why do people want to have a home?

Maybe we all want home because of the fear of growing up, and this fear doesn’t get better with age. We long to feel whole, searching everywhere, finding all that we can. But in that search we still need that place of peace to rest and renew ourselves. This home, this place of peace we find, in the end is within us. This is the only true home that we live in regardless of our surroundings.

Imagine a tornado, a physical one or a mental one; home cannot be destroyed by a tornado. Home is not a place; it’s not a person; home is not a feeling, a wish, or a thought, because even those can disappear just like a tornado.

Home must be a place of truth that exists without the shapes and forms, different conceptions and attachments. This existence cannot be destroyed, even in the chaos of life. Home is the peace that you find in yourself after you have cleansed enough to see who you truly are. You don’t need more “stuff” to make it home. By reflecting and discarding layer after layer of deeply rooted thoughts and emotions; we let go, freeing ourselves from our attachment to them.

Home is where you know yourself.

Today, I feel more than just Chinese or American; I am Yue. Every place I’ve been has shaped me, has raised me. I see how all the opportunities given to me to grow, search piece by piece, completing a picture of home. Today, I am more than just a mom, or a daughter. I’m grateful my sons are well, and my mother is safe. These are the people I cherish, even when they’re not physically with me. So many moments of laughter and tears remain with me, as I sit quietly, listening to the flutes. I made my simple comfort, a bowl of ramen, enjoying Chinese New Year alone, whether in Portugal or California, whether my loved ones are near or far. This doesn’t feel lonely; it feels whole. When you truly know yourself, when you get there, you are always home.

Hello, traveler,
have you found home?
You may not realize how blessed you are,
beyond what you see on the map,
until you stop searching for pieces…
Come home now.
Come to this place where few will lead,
you will find what awaits, free from illusions.
It’s the best investment,
where infinite wells of compassion flow,
into the future of unknown,
where there is always home,
just for you.
With all my love, and yours truly,
-Yue