{"id":13654,"date":"2016-04-06T07:35:51","date_gmt":"2016-04-06T07:35:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.thesojournseries.com\/bavaria\/?p=13654"},"modified":"2016-04-06T07:47:14","modified_gmt":"2016-04-06T07:47:14","slug":"home","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thesojournseries.com\/bavaria\/home\/","title":{"rendered":"Home"},"content":{"rendered":"

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A picture taken on the ferry back home to England a few days before Easter.<\/p>\n

We had driven through the night to Dunkirk, having typically left it too late to book any decent flights back. \u00a0A drive at disgustingly unsociable hours, but one that made for an easier journey with\/for the baby at least – not yet used to the mile covering that his older siblings are.<\/p>\n

My share of the drive was a breeze – there’s something completely satisfying about covering vast stretches of empty autobahn whilst your family slumber on around you – watching as the distance diminishes on the GPS, and looking forward to the things to come back at home.<\/p>\n

The ferry journey there wasn’t particularly memorable (although for a ferry company trying to up its game at being family friendly, it could have done with a decent baby changing room and somewhere quiet to feed the baby, but that’s another story!), the boat rocked about a bit as you might expect on a March sea, and there was the usual faint whiff of vomit intermingled with that of the customary “it will settle your stomach” English Breakfast freight drivers swear by (apparently – a couple of them told me when I was queueing for tea!). \u00a0 But, for me at least, this was a special journey, one to transport the baby back to England for the very first time – a place that holds the biggest chunk of his family, plus the tangled torn up roots of his parents and those of his siblings. Home.<\/p>\n

As we approached the harbour, his sister suggested we took a photo to commemorate his first visit. \u00a0It would be symbolic with the white cliffs as a back drop, and we could recount the reasons for taking it if and when he asks one day. \u00a0 Except that it didn’t exactly turn out as the image I had planned in my head – the dirty windows of the ferry saw to that, as did the distance… The cliffs looked barely distinguishable, and the sea a strange colour thanks to the early morning light. \u00a0But there’s that little round head of his next to that of his sister’s with her sleep tussled hair… She patiently held him on her knee and told him about a country he didn’t yet know, but that she was as excited to see as much as I was.<\/p>\n

I posted the half-baked image on Instagram, where it attracted a good few thought-provoking comments from Expats and non-Expats alike. \u00a0It made me think – how can a place be home if you have never lived there before? \u00a0 Is home something you inherit? \u00a0Is it something passed down from a shared history and the stories of family members, or through the dishes prepared by your mother, the music you grow up listening to and\/or the books that you read? \u00a0 \u00a0Does all of the above combined (and more) lead to a feeling of familiarity and a sense of belonging when you visit? \u00a0 Is a sense of home something you begin to understand when you land in the country listed on your passport even if you haven’t lived there before? \u00a0Or, if you are born abroad does a sense of belonging and “normality” only exist away from the place of your forefathers? \u00a0 Is it usual that children of Expats feel it only normal to carry on that life one day themselves?<\/p>\n

I have friends who are incredibly lucky in that home to them is always where their immediate family are and nowhere else, not for them any sentimentality about my small green island – I am quite jealous of that. \u00a0 But England will always be my home wherever we are, and as he probably won’t be too old by the time we return for good, I am pretty sure it will be as significant to the baby as it has always been to his older siblings.<\/p>\n

It is intriguing though, is it hard for third culture children to truly call anywhere home? \u00a0 If you are a TCK yourself where do you consider home if anywhere at all? \u00a0Is it a land for you, or a group of people? \u00a0 \u00a0Do you celebrate the fact that you are a free spirit and can put down roots anywhere without any problem, or do you secretly hold a grudge against your parents for setting you off along on this path? \u00a0Divulge if you will!?<\/p>\n

For now though, this picture will remain (for me at least), a commemoration of the baby’s first trip back to England. Home.<\/p>\n

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Not the best quality photo (the ferry was rocking) but one that means a lot to me nonetheless. Baby’s first glimpse of his own country… (excuse his big sister’s messy hair, we drove through the night to get here)… #england #homesweethome #uk<\/a><\/p>\n

A photo posted by Emma (@bavariansojourn) on