Today I live in Germany. But I was born in a different country. After the first few years of my life we moved and I grew up here. I don’t really see myself as German, nor as Russian. There are more than those two cultures in me, but none of them is 100% me.
So I don’t have a home in the sense of a home country. That never bothered me.
Maybe moving from one country to another, from one language to another, from one culture to another is what made me see home in not just one place, but many different ones.
I moved out at my parent’s house when I was 17, to the city I live in now. Once here I moved a lot over the past 18 years. Many places that I called home, but they kept on changing.
I’d say that home is not necessarily the flat one lives. I have friends who make me feel at home when I visit. I feel at home when I an the flat I actually live in. I sometimes can even feel at home while I’m at work.
Home can be different places during certain times.
But I now came to the realisation that home for me can also be a feeling, a state of mind.
And sometimes one has to go away from home, to realise where home is. That is what I did. I needed a break from home, I tried to stay, but I couldn’t. I had to walk away and find me on the road. I like to think that I spent that time well. I grew, I experienced new things. Every now and then I would think about home, look it up, but I wasn’t ready to get back.
And then came last years and suddenly I felt the need to get closer to home. Bit by bit. With a few detours. And then, very slowly step by step I got closer and closer. And without even realising I suddenly was home.
In a home that was missing among all my other homes. I found my way back to submission and D/s and all it brought with it.