I haven’t posted anything in a couple of days. It’s one of those up and down periods that don’t seem to end. Thanks to @pjawoode for keeping me company during sleepless nights. And then I read Rebel’s post about ‘home’. She got me off my butt and thinking about where my home is; what I want for this year, and how I balance my present with my past.

It’s like living in a twilight zone. I’m thinking of what I will say, eventually, when my baby grows up. A future US citizen, who is also German, may never understand the times I grew up in. The choices I made. I don’t have a home, neither a place, nor a person. My past is my home.

The only place I ever considered ‘home’, was my escort web-page. I could make myself into whoever I wanted to be. This sounds bizarre, but home is a place where I don’t have to do everything. So I had my page, but the site doesn’t belong to me. And, yet, it felt like my most stable home. Where I could be me, where I had friends without secrets.

Yup, that’s me. I haven’t been an escort for over three years now, but my page is still there. No, don’t bother looking for it. All links are cut, searchable terms removed, but I can still find it. It’s a home for the homeless. In the shadow, out of sight. Nobody walks in who doesn’t belong, who isn’t ashamed.

Can I really build a home as long as ‘Alyssia’ is still out there? The ‘Alyssia’ who was 10 years younger than I really was? I wonder. Am I stuck in a homeless shelter, the twilight zone, where I’m nothing but a homewrecker?

I will eventually return to Berlin, that much I know. Though it will be a different life. I hope a good one. And I won’t be alone, not that that’s why I’m having a baby. A child deserves a home, but a child does not make a home. Maybe being together will be my new home. I don’t really know.

But the homeless shelter is looming over my future. If I can still get to my old ‘Alyssia’ page, so can others. I value my anonymity. I’ve never been careless, but I know the five steps it takes to find out my real name, where I live, who I was. If someone wants to hunt me, they could.

I’ve made a lot of people happy. No regrets there. But accusing me of being a homewrecker is easy. Most of all for those who don’t know me.

Home? Home is not a word by itself. Not yet, at least. It always comes with a post-fix.