* This essay column is written by a longtime foreign resident of Japan.

I have no problems when people ask me where I live -- my wife insisted that I learn my address by heart in case I get lost and I have it written in Japanese on a note in my wallet for those late-night semiconscious taxi rides. The difficulties and doubts begin when I am asked where my home is.

"Home." Why does such a short word trigger such strong emotions, and especially at this time of year?

Like Americans at Thanksgiving and, I suppose, Japanese at New Year's, at Christmas I want to be home. Ever since I left for university at 18, I've tried to return home at Christmas, but now I'm not sure where that is.

As always when I am confronted by something that I don't know the meaning of, I reach for my Webster's New World Dictionary or my Oxford English Dictionary. There is something so reassuring and constant about searching for meaning through their well-thumbed pages, a feeling that is missing waiting for something to pop up on a flickering computer screen. But even my "bibles" let me down this time.

A "dwelling place; fixed residence of family or household"; the "place where a person (or family) lives; one's dwelling place" are fine, but they are sterile and cold; they describe bricks and mortar, and don't convey the feeling of belonging or warmth that I associate with home.

A dip into Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable is equally unhelpful. You can't argue with the wonderful sentiments of "Home sweet home" or "There's no place like home," but why is home so sweet, and why is there no place like it?

The closer Christmas gets the more confused I get and I am compelled to turn to my last resource -- The Collins Thesaurus (it's arranged alphabetically, so it's much easier to use than Roget's) -- and there, between homage and homicide, I begin to understand.

Home: Family, fireside, hearth; at home: comfortable, familiar, relaxed.

So that's it: A home is not concrete or breeze-blocks, or 4x4 construction; it's not 1LDK or 3DK, an apaato, manshon, duplex or semidetached house. A home is family.

The warmth and comfort that I feel when I open my front door comes not from a kotatsu or hot carpet, but from the people I want to see and be with after spending 90 minutes on three crowded trains returning from work, where my Japanese boss and colleagues have spent another day proving to me that I live in a foreign country.

Home is the baseball glove I trip over when I come in because my son hasn't had time to put it away in his rush to get to his juku class. It's being told -- once again -- by my wife that there's no point in being frustrated or getting angry, that it's not personal, it's just the way things work in Japan. Yes, even that.

But I also have a home (family) in England, and that's a problem.

When I first came to Japan I tried to go "home" at least once a year, sometimes twice (in summer and at Christmas), and whenever I returned to England I would always send or bring things back that I thought would make my life here more palatable. It was a futile attempt to create a little corner in Setagaya that would be forever England because the food, books and newspapers were quickly consumed, and I couldn't bring or send to Japan the people who are my home in England.

Brewer's also offers "Home is where the heart is," but I only have one heart and I have to divide it between Japan and England. So I prefer my maxim: "The heart is where the home is." In that way my two homes -- the people who make them so special and important to me -- are always with me, wherever I may roam.

I'd welcome any comments or opinions, in Japanese or English, about my column. You can write or fax me at The Weekly, or e-mail me at jtweekly@japantimes.co.jp

The Japan Times Weekly: December 20, 2003
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