When I walk through my apartment and nothing can be heard but my footsteps, I am reminded of how awfully alone I am here. This is not my home. On my walls I have photos of my family who are 10,000 km away. I fill my place with possessions in hopes that they will make me happy. But in these silent moments I realize that they are just objects and I am just as empty inside with them as I am without them. They are good distractions but they don’t actually make me happy. Looking at them now I ask myself why I decided to make this city my home. The only way I can truly feel at home is if I am with the people I care about the most. I go back to my birthplace every year because I feel I owe it to my family after being away for so long. I tell myself that they need me each time I buy my plane ticket. But that’s only half the truth. I need them just as much as they need me. Being with them fills the void I have inside when I am away from them. It is clear to me now that close human relationships are infinitely more powerful than any possession I own.