Living away from home
does something subtle.

You stop belonging
cleanly to one place.

Home feels familiar,
but no longer complete.

Abroad feels functional,
but never fully settled.

So the question changes.
Not where is home?
But where does belonging
actually happen?

For some, it happens in transit.

The airplane becomes neutral ground.

Not a destination.
Not an identity.

A pause between versions.

On the way home,
there’s anticipation of rest.

Old rhythms.
Seeing friends.
The version of yourself that exhales.

On the way abroad,
here’s anticipation of structure.
Routine.
Discipline.

The other self —
sharper, quieter,
more contained.

Both directions feel true.
And neither feel permanent.

The air holds that contradiction
without forcing resolution.
No one asks you to commit.
No one expects consistency.

Some people belong to a place.
Others to a role.
Some to a version of themselves.

And some belong in transit.