Home: A Journey Through Words and Emotions

Claudia Wysocky

Home. The very word evokes a medley of emotions and images, unique to each person who utters it. For some, it might be the place where they were born and raised, steeped in memories of childhood and innocence. For others, like myself, it's more than just four walls and a roof; it's the intangible warmth of love and belonging that transcends geographical boundaries.

As a 16-year-old Polish photographer and poet living in New York, I've come to realize that home is an amalgamation of experiences, smells, tastes, and sounds that together weave the fabric of my identity. It's the salty tang of pickled cucumbers my grandmother would make each year with the same loving precision. It's the clacking of our language, punctuated by laughter and familiarity, a sonorous lullaby that soothes my homesick soul. Home is the way my father's arms enveloped me when I won my first poetry competition, his pride palpable even though he could never vocalize it.

But homeownership isn't always a linear concept. As an immigrant, I've grappled with the duality of my heritage and my newfound American identity. In between a name change and navigating a foreign culture, I've often found myself adrift in a sea of confusion. I tried to shed my past like an outgrown skin, desperate to blend into the mosaic of faces around me. But I soon realized that in doing so, I was losing sight of who I truly was. It wasn't until I embraced my roots, imperfections and all, that I finally began to understand the true meaning of home.

For me, home resides in the spaces between languages, where my mother tongue dances with broken English. It's in the quiet moments spent pouring over black and white photographs, remnants of a life left behind but etched indelibly in my heart. Home is the writer's high that courses through my veins when I string together words, forging connections with strangers who have trodden similar paths. It's the knowledge that even though my accent may betray me at times, my stories are universal: echoes of the human experience that transcend language and geography.

Home isn't a place; it's a feeling. It's the sweet ache of longing melded with the security of belonging. It's where I can be myself, unapologetically Claudia Wysocky — a Polish-American poet and photographer who is learning to love her heritage one verse and frame at a time. Home isn't tied to one place but rather exists in the in-between, the liminal space where cultures collide and voices harmonize. Home is the stories I weave through my lens and quill, capturing the essence of what it means to belong not to a country but to the world itself. It's in the knowing smiles I share with my grandmother when she presses a freshly baked babka into my hands, understanding the silent language of love that transcends borders and generations.

Home is standing on the precipice of two cultures, embracing the dichotomy of who I am. It's in the joyous melting pot of New York City, where diversity intertwines with shared humanity. Home is more than just a physical location; it's a state of mind, a sanctuary forged by acceptance and self-discovery. And so, as I step out into an uncertain future, cameras strapped to my side and pen in hand, I carry with me the remnants of my past, woven into the tapestry of who I've become. For I've come to realize that home isn't just where I lay my head at night; it's where my heart resides — in between the lines of my poetry and the frames of my photographs. Home is the story I choose to tell about myself, a continuing narrative that weaves together the threads of my past, present, and future.

Home isn't a fixed destination but rather an ever-evolving journey, a tapestry of memories, and experiences that I weave with each passing day. And as long as I carry my stories and my heritage, home will always be with me, an intangible sanctuary that transcends space and time. So, here's to home, wherever I find it, whatever form it takes — for home is not just a place but a feeling deep within my soul, a yearning for connection and acceptance that I've finally found in the sharing of my words and images.