Far from Home

What is my home? It is something not real sometimes for me, because I
have the imagination that I had a home when I was a child and in the
beginning of my youth. I remember the winter nights, all the family was
in the same room. In the middle of this room was a heating (wood oven)
and all people in this room was happy. When I hear the word HOME, it is
the first image I have in my mind.

Now it is true I learned also that a family under the same roof can be
my home but I don't feel so, I am searching always my ideal home in my
imagination which might never have been existed in the reality. I tried to live
in different countries; in the beginning I hopped to find a home but
then I was looking only for different countries and had always in my
mind my own home which was in a place I couldn't get to.

A Persian poet wrote I will voyage all ports, I want to leave my home,
to find another homes; the correct lines could differ from my words, I
don't mind; important is that a good friend of mine said after have
heard this line the following sentences: "the port which I leaved, was
the port that I was looking for". It is the same room what I am looking
for, or the people in it, or this little heating which had something
magic in its existence, or may be simply the memory of all of this.

My home is the voice of my grandma who told me in the this winter
nights the stories about the Giants, magic swards, unknown countries,
wonderful girls and brave combatants, my home is the voice of my mum
who sung the laments for my death uncle, my home is the street in my
childhood and its loud laughters, my home is my uncle in his farm who
was crying: "let the water flow", my home is my friend Abidin who shout
the police is there!

My home is the smell of spring, my home is the smell of my mother's
breast, my home is the smell of the smile in the streets of my
childhood, my home is the smell of Nan-bread at a tenûr.

My home is the some of imagination, the voice and the smells in a non
real time and place may be it had to be non real. However I live at the
moment in London. A very big city, it is very busy at the same time and
more important it is real.

I can't feel at home here, I don't know why, there are a lot of
reasons, most important of them is that I have to remember the
following sentence: "I am foreigner."

Foreigner carries all of his past life: villages, family, work,
friends, and even memorial about a whole life. It means if you see a
foreigner, you will recognize that he is little bent under all these
loads. Well, I am one of these people, how can I feel at home, how can
I be myself, when I feel so much pressure from inside and outside?

Kurdistan the home of the freedom in my dreams, I couldn't go and see
all of your mountains and now I am guilty to carry all of these
mountains on my rucksack in the busy streets of London. The worst is
you don't have the power to change this situation, you can't decide
yourself to go home, I can't decide to go home, I can't, ...