When I hear the word “home”, I think of a place that makes me comfortable, and that I have lived in from 2 days to a lifetime. Because we are not at our house in Seattle, we usally refer to where we are staying as home. A home feels like a place that I’m comfortable, such the airbnb we are staying in now. I would call home a small shack with a bed. I mean, you can sleep, eat, and lead a normal life, but it’s not too enjoyable to sleep in a small shack. That is a bit tipsy (borderline).
A home is somewhere that I have a strong feeling with, and a home is not a home without the people that I love. It wouldn’t feel very much like home without the people that I love and spend time with. It wouldn’t feel cozy and comfortable (as I mentioned before) without those people.
My perspective changes over time, but it stays mostly the same. I have liked all the place we have stayed, and I consider them all home. For me, a cardboard platform isn’t a home, but mabye for a cat it is. I love the rush of joy to see what the next house will look like, a room with 3 beds and a bathroom (like Venice and Heidelberg), or a main space, kitchen, bathroom and 2-4 beds (like many other places).
Some places we stay are cleaner and neater than others. I liked all of the them, but I liked some more than others. I could engage in some more than others, but they are all called home.