Twelve weeks ago, I boarded a plane that would take me from Jakarta to Berlin. I had taken this flight numerous times before, but this time, I was on a one-way ticket. I was moving back home.
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Home. A little word with only four letters, defined as the place where one lives permanently, and something I never had. I didn’t grow up in just one city. Instead, I moved around to different in Germany, Japan and Indonesia every four or five years with my family.
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