Many people distinguish between the home of the heart and the homE of the mind. What does this mean? Is such a distinction even possible? Doesn’t it make home into a constructed fantasy and reality into a not-yet-but-soon in which provisional arrangements extend over years or even decades?
V., mechanic, 50
“...my home is in Vietnam but I see Germany as my second home. I feel at home in Germany. My whole family is here. That’s why Germany—Berlin—is my home.”
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