Voyaging. Homecoming. -Matti Gao’s Solo Show
Dwelling, family, roots, and the eternal spiritual homeland — Matti Gao
Written on August 5, 2024, in Southern Cyprus
Since childhood, I’ve moved house almost every two years. During high school, whenever I returned home during holidays, I would always find that home had moved again. At that time, I just wanted to have a home. For me, the definition of home was simple: a fixed place.
When I was six or seven, I lived at my grandmother’s house in Harbin. One day, upon learning that my parents had returned, I dared to take a bus across the entire city in the -25°C winter, alone, for an hour, just to appear at their doorstep. I can still remember the look of shock and sadness on my mother’s face when she opened the door.
At that time, I just wanted to be with them. For me, home wasn’t a place—it was wherever my parents were.
Before high school, I followed my parents from place to place. But when high school began, I started boarding at school. It seemed I was slowly growing up, no longer relying on my parents, and the concept of home no longer felt as important. I spent my high school and university years in Beijing, studying and living on my own. I gradually got used to this feeling of “voyaging,” at least outwardly, no longer panicking.
Now, I sit across from Israel and Lebanon. Across the sea, there is the chaos of war, while here in southern Cyprus, on the other side of the Mediterranean, people are on holiday in 33°C heat, tanning into bright red crabs. The scene before me resembles a childhood dream—perhaps one that appeared in my dreams countless times: a family vacationing by the sea, doing nothing, simply basking in the sun, jumping into the water when tired, then coming back out to continue basking.
However, doing nothing takes immense courage—and tremendous love. This kind of love isn’t something you actively seek out; it’s a passive kind of love, the kind that others give you.
I have yet to visit Jerusalem or the Middle East, but for me, it is another distant and sacred spiritual homeland. Purification of the soul, redemption, eternal life—all these may not have a physical location, but in everyone’s heart, there is a place that corresponds to them. For me, Jerusalem and the Middle East may represent humanity’s most primal state and the most fundamental human relationships, including family and blood ties.
The search for spiritual roots is an even more challenging journey. Wherever the roots are, that is where home is.
Looking toward the distant horizon, it seems so close, yet so far. On the other side of the horizon lies the unknown, but this time, I am no longer afraid. In this moment, I am filled with gratitude, my body and soul transformed into a small boat, being pushed by the wind, toward that far-off horizon.
Under the blazing sun, I suddenly understand the meaning of that “passive love”—it’s the love you don’t need to strive for. You just need to open your heart and accept it, and you will feel happiness.
I finally understand, home, is a verb.
Constantly voyaging, constantly homecoming...
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