have spent a long time searching for a sense of belonging.

Not the kind defined by a map, a passport, or a place I could simply call home. I have been searching for the quiet certainty of a place where the soul can finally come to rest.

A place where I no longer have to prove my worth, where I do not need to constantly reshape myself to fit my surroundings, where I am no longer living in fear of losing what I have. A place where I can simply exist, and where I can become myself without hesitation.

Over time, I realised that I was never truly searching for a particular country. I was searching for a way of living.

I love China.

I love its poetry, its philosophy, its landscapes, and the timeless beauty woven into its traditional culture. They have shaped the way I understand the world and taught me to believe that beauty and the humanities are not ornaments of life, but life itself.

Yet I have never truly found a sense of belonging there.

What alienated me was never the culture itself, but certain values that have become deeply embedded in the social environment.

When a person’s worth is increasingly measured by grades, rankings, admissions, and achievements, the qualities that cannot be quantified, kindness, curiosity, creativity, empathy, and the ability to appreciate beauty, gradually fade into the background.

There is another sadness that has stayed with me for years.

We speak about equality, yet rarely learn how to truly understand and respect those who are different from ourselves. We condemn prejudice, yet often fail to recognise the stereotypes we unconsciously hold. We celebrate efficiency, but seldom pause to ask why beauty matters in the first place.

Growing up, I rarely experienced an education that genuinely valued the arts. Art was often treated as another subject to be assessed rather than a way of understanding the world.

So when ancient towns are illuminated by uniform decorative lights, or valleys are redesigned to become picturesque tourist attractions, I do not simply feel disappointed by the aesthetics. I feel something deeper.

The way a society understands beauty quietly shapes the people who live within it.

Later, I moved to Sydney.

For the first time, I experienced what it felt like to be respected by a system.

As a student, I watched my suggestions being listened to with sincerity and, more importantly, put into practice. It was the first time I realised that people without authority could still be treated with dignity.

Yet respect alone was not enough to create belonging. Belonging also needs somewhere to settle.

When I first arrived in Sydney, I lived with a host family, carefully adjusting myself to someone else’s routines every day. Later, I moved into a 19-square-metre student studio where my bedroom and kitchen shared the same small space. After that, I lived with two friends who had already shared a home for a year before I arrived. They were kind to me, yet I constantly felt as though I had stepped into a story that had begun long before I entered it. I was afraid of disturbing them, afraid of conflict, and afraid of losing my place to live. During that time, I struggled with insomnia, hair loss, and recurring inflammation.

Eventually, I rented an apartment of my own.

For the first time, I sketched the layout before buying furniture. I arranged every piece exactly as I wanted. In the evenings, I turned on the soft amber lamps, lit incense, played classical music through my speakers, and quietly lay in bed.

In that moment, I realised that belonging was never something grand. Sometimes, it is simply a place where your body no longer feels the need to remain alert.

Even so, that sense of peace was only temporary.

Graduation was approaching, and I would most likely move to another city, perhaps even a regional town. The future remained uncertain.

One day, the person I love replaced my large suitcase with a smaller one that would be easier to travel with. He smiled and told me it would be much more practical. I smiled too. Yet the first thought that crossed my mind was quietly unsettling.

What if I have to move again tomorrow?

It was never the smaller suitcase that frightened me. It was the reminder that I was still living like someone preparing to leave.

Later, I travelled through Scandinavia.

Almost everything there resonated with me.

The generous use of negative space in its architecture. The quiet relationship between cities and nature. The respectful distance people maintained from one another. The care given to public spaces and shared environments. A way of life that felt restrained, gentle, and deeply considered.

For a moment, I wondered whether I had finally found where I belonged. But I still did not.

Because language is more than communication. It carries childhood memories, humour that needs no explanation, unspoken understanding, and the quiet intimacy of truly sharing a life with others.

Only then did I realise that I had never been searching for a particular country. I had been searching for a certain character of civilisation.

A place where individuals are respected and nature is allowed to exist on its own terms. A place where art is not a luxury but part of everyday life. A place where equality is not a slogan, but a habit deeply woven into the culture.

Gradually, I stopped searching for the perfect place. Perhaps such a place has never existed.

Belonging is not a gift the world simply offers us. It is something we create with patience, care, and intention.

So I hope that one day I can build a warm home with the person I love.

A home where different languages, cultures, and life experiences can coexist without anyone having to abandon who they are in order to be accepted.

A home filled with soft amber light, books, plants, music, and conversations that linger long after dinner.

A home where there is enough respect for everyone to become fully themselves.

Perhaps that is what belonging has always meant. It is not finally finding the right place.

It is creating a place that finally feels like home.