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 When I first came here, all those years ago - at 19, I wasn’t really homesick because I had a boyfriend. He was my soulmate, who I’ve only known for almost 2 years by that time, but felt like I’d known him for years. The one who I spent my breakfast during weekends with at our college cafe, and sometimes lunch and movies at the mall.

So I wasn’t really homesick, being at boarding school for 5 years also helped at that. But I missed my boyfriend, so terribly - I couldn’t imagine living at my university without him. So we met everytime we had the opportunity to do so, usually during public holidays when we could travel somewhere together.

And so, Fukuoka became my third home, just as Hiroshima became his.

Then we came back to Japan as a married couple, with 3 kids. I thought I’m going to be so homesick, but turns out I didn’t. I kept waiting for the day that I’m going to break down and cry, wanting to go back to the familiar place.

But I didn’t. I haven’t, still.

Then we went back to Malaysia for a 2-week break. Spent a lot of time with our respective families, loved seeing and hugging my mom and sisters like finally, even made my mom kiss my cheeks - the last time she kissed my face was probably the day I got married.

Then after a blissful (and completely exhausting) 2 weeks, we came back to Japan. I cried, my mom cried, everyone cried. 

But once we reached the airport, there was a sense of relief came over me. The whole time in Malaysia, I was happy but nervous - I can’t put a word on it. But that feeling was gone once we reached here.

And when we got home, smelling that air inside the house entrance (genkan - I don’t know why but Japanese genkan always has some sort of smell!) calmed me down immediately, I have no idea why. And once we were home, it was like we never left. 

And that feeling, to me, maybe is home. I’m finally home.