Not the footie team. Obviously. (I’m not a fan of sport, full stop). But of my real home. In Edinburgh (and surrounds).
It raises the question of “where is home?” and “what does ‘home’ mean?”. Well, where is yours? And how did it become yours? Was it where you were brought up? Moved to? Worked for most of your life? Went to uni/school? Where your parents are from? Where you fell in love? Felt accepted for being you? Moved to, out of necessity? None of these? A combination of these? Something entirely different? (Tell me your ‘stories of home’ – I’d love to hear! Actually, I’d love to photograph! And tell your story to the world!)
Edinburgh has felt like home for many years. Over half my life. I’ve been trying to move here, off and on, for the last 20. Blimey.
Despite being born in Yorkshire (which is also ‘home’ but in a more generic, but fundamental, sense – I think that’s a topic for another post!). I’ve been visiting the city since 1984. It’s held an important place in my heart since day one.
My love affair with Embra began in the passion of Fringe. But I soon realised it was the city itself, and not the Land of Green Ginger (much as I adore it, revel in it, and work my heart out for it, year-in-year-out), which whispered to my soul.
And now I’m here. I gave in. To my heart, though it makes sense to my head too. I am in my home…my home is in me. And that, Dear Reader, is, I think, what makes anywhere ‘home’. Outside in and inside out. Yin Yang. Mobius Strip. Alice Through the Looking Glass. &&&&&&&.
Wishing you love in your home. x