Most of us can identify the exact time when we feel that we are on vacation. For some, it is the moment they put their seat belt on, waiting for the plane to take off for the next destination. For others, the holiday only truly begins when they have settled down in a taxi for the ride to their hotel, taking in the sights of a new city through a miasma of tiredness. And then, there are those who only feel that they are on vacation once they have unpacked their bags and had their first meal in their holiday spot of choice.
But my question today is a different one. Once your vacation is over and you are back in your own house, when do you feel that you have truly arrived home?
Is it the moment you walk into the main door, set your bags down, and settle down with a sigh on that comfortable sofa that has taken on the shape of your derriere? Is it when you have unpacked all your clothes, set aside those that need to be laundered, taken out your toiletries and stored your luggage away? Is it when you eat your first home-cooked meal after days of eating out at restaurants and hotels? Is it when you take your first hot shower in your own bathroom, washing away the dust and grime of the homeward journey? Or is it when you finally change into a pair of freshly-washed and ironed pyjamas and slip into your own bed, resting your head on a pillow that feels just right after all the too-soft or too-hard monstrosities you have been subjected to on your travels?
I know some people who are loath to even unpack their bags for days after a vacation, because they feel that the moment they do, the feeling that they are on holiday from real life will be over. But, speaking for myself, the sight of unpacked luggage always makes me feel slightly disoriented, as if I am suspended between two worlds – the real one in which I live and the vacation one where I go to get away from reality. So, as far as I am concerned, I only truly feel at home once the luggage has been unpacked and the bags hidden away where I can’t see them.
But it takes more than a home-cooked meal or a hot shower to make me truly feel at home. Even a good night’s sleep in my own bed doesn’t quite do the trick. In fact, I often find myself waking up in the early hours, slightly bewildered, thinking I am still in some hotel room – so much so, that it takes me a couple of moments to orient myself so that I can find the way to my own bathroom.
It is only the next morning, when I wake up to the weak rays of sunshine that come through my bedroom window, and gradually familiarize myself with my surroundings, that I feel truly at home. I linger beneath the bedsheets for a few precious moments longer so that I can savour the luxurious feeling of waking up in my own bed. And then, it’s on to the first cup of steaming hot coffee, the aroma that always spells home to me.
The views expressed by the columnist are personal
From HT Brunch, June 13, 2026
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