I think there are two versions of home, the one that will always be there waiting for you, and the home that is where you make it. When you’re in one place you always miss the other. Right now I am living in a foreign county, and although we are gradually becoming closer, essentially I am living among strangers. But how does this tie into the lost meaning of home?

 

In an area as divided as Northern Ireland I think it is very definitive where your home is, either on this side of the line or the other, Catholic or Protestant. When we visit Belfast this weekend I am very excited to see the “peace wall” which is the wall dividing the Catholics from the Protestants.

 

To me, home will always be in Southern Illinois in a small town of about 4,000 people. There are no strangers, everyone knows something about someone. (Which is similar to the locals here) and whenever I am feeling lost I know in my the back of my mind that my home and loved ones will always be waiting for me.