When a person is not in the geography where they were born, this question is always asked by those around them or by those left behind: Will you return? Sometimes it makes a person think, sometimes it angers them, sometimes it excites them. This is entirely related to what you experienced in the place you left behind and why you left. If you were driven out, you do not return. If you were ignored, you do not return. If you were looked down on and othered, you do not want to return to the place you came from. You may even want to escape, or you may fear being forced to return, because within those borders, the feeling of freedom will disappear, and you will feel imprisoned.
If you have experienced none of these, then you have seen injustice. Your rights have been violated, your opportunities have been blunted, you have been prevented from doing what you wanted, and your happiness was not wanted. To return, you need hope. If you see that hope, you return to the place you came from. If there is no hope, you still want to grow hope painfully in another geography, in a place where the language, culture, and standards are different. You wait bitterly for hope. Maybe one day you return, but you cannot know that.
If everything was good, beautiful, comfortable, free, and valuable, and you still left, then neither the place you went to nor entering into this subject has any meaning. You will return anyway.
So which one are we? The ignored ones? The forced ones? The happy ones?
This thing called homeland is entirely about what you experienced there, what you left behind, how many happy memories and how many painful truths you collected during the time you spent there. As for me, I have no homeland. I want every place I go to become a homeland; I want the world to be a homeland for everyone. Borders, languages, and beliefs provide all the conditions necessary for a person not to be happy. But as you cross borders, you collect happiness.
So, whether you call it homeland, country, exile, or return, it consists only of the place from which you look, what you see, and what you remember.
And homeland is not the place where blood is shed upon it, but the place where roses are scattered!