Where is home?

Bloc Party, wonder about it, maybe less than I do. Where it is? Where is home?

Late Friday night, the bus from the airport takes me through familiar avenues, sites of a seemingly distant everyday commute, towards the center of my favourite birthplace, which could be the most beautiful city in the world, -and perhaps at some point in history actually has already been. As we go down Vasilissis Sofias Avenue, I become aware of what never left this place. People eager to party 24 hour days without being separated from their cars are infesting every small street from here to Syntagma Square at 4 am!

In front of the Parliament I step off the bus and take a deep breath of the thin, dry air of my old capital. I am home.

But am I really? As I walk down towards Ermou Street to catch a taxi home I run across young people coming out of the nearby bars which are closing down. They all look so elegant and happy, dressed up with smart and expensive clothes. Most of them are maybe 10 years younger than me but make me look like a high-school student with my anorak and my hiking boots and the backpack I am carrying around. I get a feeling my compatibility with Barcelona is starting to become incompatible with my hometown. And as soon as the youngsters, all fun and laughter, rush by me to get a taxi before me, this feeling gets stronger. I stand there, suitcase in hand, as they pass me by with the most naturally innocent way and then I cannot but wonder. Am I a tourist in my own city?

Three days later, I have still not gone out that much. I am spending time with friends and family, mostly because it is them that mean home to me more than anything else. But I still wonder whether I am staying in because of a fear -or to put it milder, an anxiety- to face reality. Starting from tomorrow I 'll try to get as much more of AthensBios as I can, just to make sure, that even if I cannot undoubtedly state where home is, Athens is still part of it.