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Last updated on 9 August 2026

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“Home is where the heart is.”

I am an MK. And for those of you who don’t know what that is, that means Missionary Kid. It means that from a very young age I was moving around the world with my mission-focused parents. Which was fantastic. I’m proud and delighted that I’m an MK. I can’t imagine what life would be without those experiences, those adventures, those plane trips to far off places.

It meant I knew about different cultures, about community, about the world, about more than just my little bubble, from a very young age. It also mean that ‘home’ wasn’t really anywhere.

I was born in the south of New Zealand, way down the bottom. Then I lived in Mongolia for three years, arriving back in New Zealand to Christchurch, eventually moving to the town I spent all of my high school years in, here in the North Island. Then off to England for two years, and now Auckland. I went to seven primary schools (my first being in Mongolia), lived in over 10 houses without ever flatting (if I had flatted during University this number would be well up), lived permanently in two hemispheres, three countries, five cities towns/cities.

As I’ve grown up, ‘home’ has meant different things to me, and I’ve thought about it differently in different parts of my life.

Home was where I was born.

When we moved from the South Island to the north, I was 8 years old. And while I grew up there, spent my high school and University days there, I always saw the South Island just as much my home as the physical house that I would spend the next 12 years in. Home was where I was born.

Home was where I came from.

When I moved to England, the answer to the questions ‘where are you from?’ and ‘so, where’s home?’ was New Zealand. That was easy. I didn’t have to be specific. I was a Kiwi living in another country, and New Zealand was, and always would be, home. I didn’t have to tell them that I didn’t really know where inside the country, but I knew home was where I came from.

Home was where my friends were.

Then I moved to Auckland, and I knew barely anyone. I had a few people that I knew scattered here and there, and my extended family live here and always have. But in terms of finding a community and finding friends (and making new ones), it took a long time. Home, when I first arrived in Auckland, was my the town I grew up in because that’s where the majority of my good friends  still were. It was, at that time, where my best friend was. Home was where my friends were.

But now I’m well established in this community, in Auckland, and while I said I would never like to live here, never say never, right? I have some fantastic friends here, I’ve got a community, I’ve got to know the area, I’m in the country I was born in, and I’m growing up even more here, even though I’m 25 years old.

My only issue now is, where is home?

Is it where I was born? Is it where my family are in Christchurch, where I spent my childhood? Or in Mongolia, where I spent the first years of my life? Is it in my hometown, where I’ve spend the majority of my schooling years and into University? Or is in England, where I found my love of travel once more? Is it Auckland, the place I am currently residing and yet previously had not desire to live here?

If ‘home is where the heart is’ then my heart is scattered around the world. I’ve left a little of it everywhere I’ve been, and somehow my heart is in the places I have yet to go.

If ‘home is where the heart is’ then my home is wherever I am at any given time. It’s the places I’ve been, am, and will go. It’s with the people I’ve met, know, and will meet.

If ‘home is where the heart is’ then I am, and always will be in some sense, home.