Home by Definition
“Home by Definition” is a personal photojournalistic narrative that explores the definition of a “home” and death’s effect on it. This was written and published during a journalism workshop in school called “Writing with Your Feet,” taught by master birdwatcher Mike Fink.
It’s been a few years since my family received the shocking news that she had cancer. At the time, it didn’t have an emotional impact on me because in spite of her illness, she remained the same. There was indefinitely a noticeable shift within the overall atmosphere, but for the most part nothing changed and life continued. She was able to maintain a healthy complexion and went about her daily routines as if purposely shunning cancer into feeling negligible. The thought of her incurable malady even began to dissipate from my mind. As a few more years flew by, I began to notice that with every passing visit that she would lose little of her vibrant complexion, weight, and energy.
During my two-week long stay in Taipei, I had a long-awaited epiphany. Sitting with my sister in our upstairs bedroom, I remember her saying,
“It will never be the same, you know. When she is gone, Taiwan will no longer feel like home.”
The gravity of her words latched onto me and it remained a lingering thought at the back of my head throughout the rest of my stay. I hadn’t considered the ramifications after she was gone and its effect on our annual trips back. Suddenly, it seemed as if I had no purpose in going back to Taiwan if she wasn’t present. This long-awaited epiphany left me questioning the terminology “home” and the cognitive implications that come with it.
What defines a home?
To me, the definition of a home is “a place where you don’t feel alone” (“To Build a Home” by Patrick Watson) and feel a sense of belonging. In a weird way, I almost associate that word more with Taiwan as opposed to my hometown in New Jersey. Despite only going visiting once a year, that feeling is only truly encapsulated in Taiwan. As progression is slow and almost nonexistent over there, the individual memories that make up my childhood still somewhat exist and are for the most part accessible.
However, the walls of this impalpable perception of a “home” has slowly but surely started to deteriorate alongside her health. As she was the blueprint that held up those walls of memories, I’m terrified that everything will come crashing down when she’s no longer there. If it does come down to that, it is an opportunity to build an even stronger foundation to reconstruct those walls of memories that make up the place I call home.
The photographs were taken with a Canon EOS 600D and a Samsung Galaxy S5 in Taipei, Taiwan throughout a course of two-weeks time.
To listen to an auditory experience that I captured during this trip back to Taiwan, please click here