Dear World,

“I don’t mind dying as long as death finds me living, but this stillness is killing me.”


This is not my home. Or at least it wasn’t planned to be, although it might be so for now. 4 years ago, I started travelling non-stop while working online. That made me good at adopting homes and getting used to the temporary. But who knows just how temporary this will be?

While people tend to fear change, it is stillness I dread. Isn’t it funny? As the borders closed and my fabulous globe-trotting plans for 2020 got cancelled, I was being deprived of the very reason why I don’t own more than 2 trousers at a time, carry any books or have a place to keep them. When they started saying, repeating, commanding me to stay at home, I didn’t know where that was.

It’s been two months. I spent the first one at my dad’s, who I happened to be visiting. Two weeks into lockdown, I started to work out and dance a lot. Constantly bumping into furniture and walls did not discourage me entirely, although I was in quite a low mood.

Sometime around the third week, I sat on the staircase and looked at my dad down in the living room. I said, “Every time my plane takes off, I have no fear of death. I feel fullfilled and gratefuI, ready to give in. I don’t mind dying as long as death finds me living, but this stillness is killing me.” Gloomy and ungrateful, I know. My apologies.

I have changed my mind since. I have also moved to a borrowed house. I continue to work out and dance every single day, the furniture conveniently turned into weights, gym equipment or props. Waking up here a few days ago, I felt totally different. I realized my personal drama was vanishing.

In some ways, this pandemic has not impacted me that much. Working online, my source of income and work routines have remained untouched. On the other hand, it has brought my thrilling unsettled lifestyle to a sudden halt. And, of course, because I was living on the road, I didn’t have a home to go back to, I chose not to. My enthusiasm feeds on the possibility of moving towards the unexpected. What does home mean to someone like me, who cherishes movement over stability?

As a nomad, I’ve thought many times that my home is my body, or the way I look at what’s around. I’ve sometimes experienced it as a transient feeling built along with others. I have also been looking for the place to build one of my own. More recently, I have blamed myself for not having it all setup when this thing hit us. “But this is also the unexpected”, I tell myself now. “You should go about it as if it were a trip. Move with it.” And so I’m trying.


This Is Not My Home

Support this photographer: Muriel Rebora ︎  @murielrebora


About the photographer: I have always beens art oriented and creative.

Before becoming a nomad 4 years ago, I combined my media creation freelance work with a performing artist career in Buenos Aires. The preventive social distancing measures trapped me in Argentina by chance. I flew in in February to spend 10 days in Patagonia shooting for a documentary I'm producing.

You may check out my work at & @murielrebora


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