There is a wonderful song called Tamo Daleko. It is a beautiful song about being in exile from one’s homeland. It was the song played at the funeral of Nikola Tesla when he died.
The song is from World War One, and tells the tales of a soldier who is in the Serbian Army. The soldiers are forced into exile on the island of Corfu in Greece and they lament that they will never again see their beloved homeland.
I love this song. I find it haunting and exquisitely beautiful.
I also find some resonance in it. I feel like I don’t belong in my own homeland. I feel like I was born in the wrong place at the wrong time. A strange but persistent feeling.
I have always been more comfortable in foreign lands. Finding the attitudes and cultures far more in sync with my own.
Ironically I am American, and to my family’s immense pride, the first TRUE born American. I don’t know if it is a myth or just some silly immigrant notion, but the third child born on American soil is deemed to be a TRUE American.
So there it was, cursed immediately.
Deemed a TRUE American child of a family of immigrants, when all I wanted was to go back to where we came from….. Someplace other than the US.
I don’t dislike America, I think it is an amazing place, filled with fascinating people and an amazing unsinkable culture. Matter of fact I love this country and am grateful to it for all its amazing opportunities it has given me.
But the truth is it does not feel like home.
I don’t know how to define that. It’s a feeling like something is off…. Like this is a great place to be, but it isnt home.
What defines home?
I am not certain. Home has always been a place where the people I loved gathered. Didn’t matter the house or the exact space, but it was a feeling.
A feeling of love, acceptance, encouragement, and wonderful support.
A place where we shared meals and talked about people long gone. A place where stories lived on and laughter was always present.
All of that has vanished from my life. Partially because of the passing of family members, but in reality I never found a family of my own. I never found a partner or found my place in the world.
So I guess home really is where the heart is.
However I have no idea where my heart is.
I presume home is wherever he is, wherever that life is.
I hate being a hopeless romantic. At least if I was a pessimist I would go on and forget about this concept of home.
Life would be life, get over it and just move on.
But I am stuck in this loop of actually believing in the concept. And because I believe, well then there is no stopping me from continuing to search.
I guess only time will tell me where home is. Here, there, anywhere…..
But no matter what I find peace and enjoy the moment, choosing to enjoy the journey no matter how long it takes.