Is it possible to miss a place you’ve never been to? Is it possible to miss the taste of something you’ve never had? Is it possible to miss the smell of the ocean you’ve never seen with your own two eyes? Well I miss my home, but I’ve never been home.
My home is the place people only hear about when it is in the context of war. It is only mentioned during times of destruction and terror, but I promise you it is so much more than that. We have on this earth what makes life worth living. We have the best people, the best beaches, the best mountains and buildings, but nobody knows that. Nobody knows the olive trees that unite the people and the beaches echoing with our childrens’ laughter. Until suddenly they aren’t. Until suddenly the olive trees are cut down and the children are gone and the world is silent. Until we are shut out once again and forced to live in a narrative unfair to us. Until we are shut out from the rest of the world fighting to survive every second of our lives while the world moves on. But home is still beautiful. No matter how destroyed or how many of our structures become ruins, it is still beautiful. Beautiful by its people and their kindness. Beautiful by their unity and heroism. Beautiful by their resilience and strength.
I wish I could go home. I wish more than anything to step foot onto the land that I love more than anyone or thing, feel the dirt and breathe in the air. I hope everyone gets the chance to go to my home. Indulge in its fig trees and have fun on its shores. Even if I cannot go, I hope everyone else gets the chance to. Gets the chance to see what home means to me, what it looks like through my eyes. I hope everyone gets the chance to meet my people, listen to their stories and fall in love with the laughter of our children. I miss it, but I don’t know if I will ever get the chance to go.
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