home

Home is a concept and a reality. This is a kind of home, although I have never lived here for more than two months at a time. A home in spite of itself. Yet it is not a home really, as I know, for I shall never live here for more than two months at a time, never be able to. Perhaps 'home' is all relative. The other night, talking to Graciela in St Pauls, I knew that Montevideo will always be a home to me, forever, although I lived there but a while, and have no physical home there to call my own. Just as London might be my home (though I cannot be quite so certain in spite of the fact I have lived there most of my life). I have a room in a house which I can call home for now, and own a home in the place I have considered home which is not currently home. And at the same time I know it to be true that in spite of these many different homes, concept and reality, I am also, for the first time in as long as I can remember, without a home at all.