Going home: what Dhaka teaches me every time

The moment the aircraft doors open in Dhaka, it hits — the warmth, the noise, the smell of rain on hot concrete. My body relaxes in a way it never quite does in Canada, and tightens in ways it never does there either. Both things are true. That's the whole story of going home.

Belonging is not a single address

For years I treated "home" as a question I had to answer correctly: Dhaka or Kitchener? Every return trip teaches me the same lesson — it's not a multiple-choice question. I belong to the people, in both places. The geography is just where the people happen to stand.

Watching my kids meet my childhood

The best part of these trips is watching my children eat food off the same street corners I did, getting spoiled by grandparents, hearing the language switch on in their heads. They're growing up with two homes by default — something I had to learn the hard way, they get for free.

Why I stopped calling it a holiday

A holiday is an escape from your life. These trips are the opposite — a return to the source of it. I come back to Canada tired, over-fed, and somehow more certain of who I am. Travel that rearranges you is worth more than travel that rests you.