Dude, where’s my country?

Where do you live? A simple enough question, in appearance. I’ve been asked it a lot this year. Meeting an endless stream of new people from various countries makes for a large number of introductions. After you’ve said hello to the fifteenth German girl at the party, whose name you’ve already forgotten, the quasi-scripted question-and-answer session begins.

“So, where do you live?” Piece of cake, you think, I live right next to that big avenue in the city cent.. - wait. Did she mean here, or which country do I usually live in? Or even where I’m from?

Ah. Well, it doesn’t matter any more; the 3-minute silence accompanying my thought process made her lose interest. I’m sure that pitcher of sangria over there would be happy to hear my answer. But what would my answer have been?

As a student, you’ll have at least two places to call home; obviously there’s the place with the draughty windows and dodgy Ikea furniture you’ve occupied for the past six months, but there’s also your parents’ house, which is always a pleasure to go back to (for, say, the first 48 hours). Being on a year abroad just adds another country to the mix, and increases your chances of not being understood when trying to answer the question.

Does it actually matter? Not really. I think the question of where you live has become irrelevant. The internet and cheap air travel means that you can know what’s going on anywhere in the world as if you were actually there. If you want to, you can conceivably get there in less than a day and for less than a thousand pounds.

All right, a thousand pounds is a lot of money. Maybe the entire world is still out of the reach of your average Imperial student. On a smaller scale, Europe is your oyster. Got fifty quid to spare? Fancy a change of scenery? Get yourself a Ryanair ticket to Rome, or EasyJet it to Prague.

Distances have practically vanished between countries; if you’re travelling inside the E.U. you barely notice any borders at all. You could be in a different country every six months if you wanted to. Naturally, in these conditions, the concept of home starts to blur.

This is exacerbated by the internet: thanks to Facebook and Skype, I almost get the impression I’m still living in London sometimes. Events, banter, gossip and even the results of the IC Fencing team make their way towards me through the ‘intertubes’. The ubiquitous tweet lets me know what a friend is thinking, or even gauge the mood of Londoners, at any given time.

The world is definitely getting smaller, and I can only see that as being a good thing. As people travel more, and see what life is like in other countries; as people get used to reading opinions from halfway around the globe, maybe people will start to cooperate more, and with more meaning.

In practical terms, there isn’t much difference between a student flat in Helsinki and one in Barcelona. So, in answer to the question, I don’t know where I live. I’ll still have my friends and family close by wherever I choose to be, and that’s what counts to me.

Although I’m just happy to have chosen a place with a beach.