Hanging in the halls of the middle school is a flyer advertising a meeting of the Refugee Club. At the bottom of the flyer is a quote: “There is no greater loss than the loss of one’s homeland.” This quote caught my attention, and the other Teaching Fellows and I got to talking about it. Was this really the greatest loss one could suffer? We started discussing the things that would be most unbearable for us to lose, and while there are many things we would not want to give up, there really are very few things that would be absolutely unbearable. Family, health, and intangibles like freedom, love and intelligence. One of the other Teaching Fellows argued that his homeland would not be the worst thing to lose. I wasn’t sure. The more I pondered it, the more I felt like it just might be the greatest loss. Perhaps I feel this way because I have a very dear attachment to my home, or maybe it’s because I take a very broad view of what home is. Home is definitely family. It is also freedom and love. In a sense, it is health because it is where I feel the most whole and well. It is who I am, so losing my home would be like losing myself.
In arguing that the loss of the homeland would not be that great, the other Teaching Fellow pointed out the fact that for all practical matters our homeland is lost to us this year. We live under the laws of another land. We are surrounded by a foreign language, culture, and religion. All of this is true, but I still don’t feel as if my homeland is lost. There is a huge difference between choosing to leave your country and being forced from it. When I am frustrated by my current home, I have the security of knowing it is temporary. I know that my home is still there and that upon returning I will find it almost the same as it was when I left. I know that if I really wanted to I could be home within one day. It would cost me a lot of money and would require hectic planning, but it could happen if I wanted or needed it to.
To be a refugee, to be someone without a homeland, must be terrifying. Not only is your future uncertain, but your past is nothing more than the few memories your mind is able to cling to. What must it be like to be forced out of your homeland by war, political chaos, disease or death? Could you imagine leaving your home and knowing that you may never return and that even if you do it will not be the same place that you knew? I choose to travel, to go to new places and leave behind old places. I will probably live in a multitude of different places during my lifetime. But I am not homeless. I have my home, and I can return to it whenever I want. And even if I am not there, I have the peace of mind of knowing that the one place in the world where I am known and understood and comfortable is there and waiting for me. It is my home, not only in my mind, but also in reality. In this world, I have a place where I belong. There are so many who do not, who understand in all its literal terror the phrase “You can’t go home again.” They may find a house, a job, a life in a new place, but still, I think, they must be homeless. Home is so much more than a place. It is a feeling, as warm and soft and comforting as the baby blanket your mother has saved for you to pass on to your children. Home is where we come from and where we aspire to. It is who we are and who we hope to be. We all deserve a place where we can go and say that we are home. We all deserve ruby slippers.
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