I loved watching the world change beneath the airplane: mountains, oceans, glowing cities at night. Every destination promised something new, yet after every journey there was still one question—where do I genuinely want to return?

I once thought home was simply an address. Now I believe it is a feeling. Home is where you can take off your shoes, let down your hair and remain silent without making another person uncomfortable. It is morning coffee prepared the way you like it, a familiar voice in the next room and arms that make even a frightening night feel safer.

Perhaps that is why I miss aviation so much. The sky gives me freedom, but it also reminds me how precious it is to have someone waiting when the flight ends.

What does home mean to you: a particular place, cherished memories, or the person waiting behind the door?