by Kieu Sansculotte –
To have many homes and none at all is like not having a favourite colour. It is hearing those around you go on about how much they love blue, red, or orange and being able to appreciate each one, but never fully understanding what makes one feel like yours. At the same time, it means being able to recognise the beauty in each colour without needing to claim one above the rest. Having many homes and none at all is the feeling of loving the beach but hating the sand. Like the sea, my world is large, untethered and freeing, but my feelings are like sand, always shifting, sometimes light, sometimes heavy.
Before the age of 18, I had witnessed the parallel between the coast and plains of Kenya, the strong cultural ties and rich heritage in Ethiopia, and the freedom of expression in the Netherlands. Each place has offered me something different: a new way to express myself, experiencing a border horizon of cultures, and varying levels of independence. Having no home has allowed me to make stronger connections in so many more places than just England. It has taught me that belonging doesn’t mean permanence. Belonging is finding a place, no matter how small, where my stories are heard, and others are shared. It is finding familiarity in a place whose soil I may never touch again, and taking comfort in the thought that, if I returned, I would still be met with a sense of belonging.
Yet there is a strangeness in having many homes but none at all. I have shared parts of myself across many places, but never all of myself in one. I know how to adapt, how to listen, how to have presence. I know my identity is not confined to a single place or moment in my life but is rather shaped by the intersection of my experiences and journeys, and that it will never fray, no matter how far I am from “home.”
I often compare myself to those who can locate home at a glance, for if I were handed a map of my first home, where I was raised for eleven years, I could not locate it very easily. It is an odd feeling to return “home” when I have so many; the same routes I had once memorised I now need guidance through. The people whom I once fought with, I no longer recognise. Like the continents once joined as one, I have separated from the land that first held me and been carried towards somewhere new. Perhaps that is why I’ve grown to love having many homes but none at all.
I can find myself in a new place and build a life from scratch. And I have. I can leave what I know with only a few familiar things and still find myself at home. That is the benefit of having no home. I am no longer bound by the fear of difference because I experienced it. During my time living in East Africa, I was exposed to so many new people and cultures. I learnt that just knowing your culture isn’t enough; you need to embrace it.
I have a confession to make. When someone asks me “where’s home”, the first answer I give is “I’m from Manchester”, but that’s because I have so many homes that the first I’ll give you is the one most evident in my voice: Manchester. The next answer is the homes of my heritage: Guyana, China, and Vietnam. Then finally, the homes of life: England, Ethiopia, Kenya, and Amsterdam.
As of right now, I may not be able to answer the question of home simply, nor may I want to in the future, but those collections of experiences, people, and places have shaped me. To have many homes, and none at all, is not a loss. To have many homes and none at all is not a need. To have many homes and none at all is freedom.
Kieu Sanculotte is a bachelor’s student in anthropology.