Hey Reader,
This week, as the rain finally stopped and the sunlight returned to Lisbon, I found myself thinking about home in unexpected ways. Not the kind of home you write on immigration forms, but the kind your body remembers before your mind does.
Sometimes home is a smell, a sound, a particular warmth in the air.
Sometimes it’s a moment that lasts only a few seconds—the way morning light blends into soft pastels for just long enough to remind you the discussion you had with your grandparents over the old ways to tell whether it’d rain or be a stunningly sunny day.
This week, it was the scent of scrambled eggs with salt and Sicilian herbs in my local café. It pulled me right back to childhood, to mornings with an over-hard egg and a bowl of rice noodles with the spiciest sauce an eight-year-old could handle. Childhood memories always return softer than they were, but they land deep in the body.
Then, with “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas” playing in the background, a memory surfaced, clear and bright:
My grandpa, waiting for me under a Chinese parasol tree, just as the leaves turned orange—it must have been an autumn afternoon. I remember walking up to him with excitement, ready to tell him everything about school.
“Let’s go home,” he said, taking my hand as we walked.
When I typed that final line—“Let’s go home”—a tear dripped down my face. Years of training taught me to cry quietly, and I did, there in the cozy café.
I told myself to focus on something else.
But the tears came anyway.
Grandpa was always the one waiting under the tree, or late at night, accompanying me as I finished homework. But he was also the one who pushed me to burn the boats and go all in. He understood my need to explore the world when others wanted me to be a well-educated lady who only know how to neatly stay within the line.
He must have known, on that autumn afternoon and so many others, that his granddaughter would one day travel, explore, and find her own definition of home—and create space for others to do the same.
Grandpa is no longer with us, but in morning pastel skies, familiar scents, friendly neighbors and hurried strangers, I still feel him — leaving me tiny reminders of the curious child I once was.
As a kid, home was already not a fixed place for me. But it was a feeling, the feeling of being understood and trust, the feeling of not having to explain.
I realize I’ve spent years searching for the meaning of “home.” I can easily call somewhere home, yet it can also feel fragile and fleeting.
- Hong Kong feels like home—the original one, my “Home Kong.”
- New York holds my emotional coming-of-age.
- London… is complicated. A hard place to fall in love with.
- But Lisbon—Lisbon felt like home right away. The sun, the light, the way people care about food, the slow living, the generosity in time. A place where my body unclenches without asking permission.
After a week of rain, the sun returned as if to say,
"Here you go. Take a breath. Rest a moment."
And I did.
For the first time in a while, I felt that quiet sensation of “home” settling into my chest.
Maybe home is not a fixed address anymore.
Maybe it’s the small sensory things that remind us we are safe—a warm café, a gentle conversation, sunlight on the table, a familiar smell from childhood.
Maybe home is wherever the body can relax, even for a moment.
Wherever you are reading this from, I hope you find a small piece of home today—in the way the light falls on your floor, or the smell of something warm in your kitchen.
💌 Gift for Your Pocket (60 words)
Speaking of home, I’m reading “The Book of Alchemy” by Suleika Jaouad. It’s a collection of 100 essays, each with a prompt. This one, by Pico Iyer, stayed with me:
“What is the moment—the place, the person, the activity—that has moved you to forget the time, to lose yourself, and to return to what can feel like forgotten depths (or heights)? And how can you begin to get back there, as early as tomorrow? “
He also co-incidentally have a TedTalk always found me by algorithm called: Where is home.
P.S.
A few tiny things that made my life feel easier lately:
My Substack reflection: What Happens When You Turn Around
My latest videos on ChatGPT: I’ve been using it as a co-pilot for everything from daily planning to hosting a dinner party.
How ChatGPT Became My Networking Co-Pilot
Will ChatGPT Replace You?
I Let ChatGPT Plan this Dinner Party
And for a laugh, the latest on Escape 9 to 5 with the viral PE Guy Johnny Hilbrant. His ultimate goal? To make people laugh, big or small.
Remember to smile, if no one has told you so, smiling make you happy, even you are just faking it.
Best,
Lydia
Writing from Lisbon on a 16 degree day
