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The idea of coming home is unique to every person in earth. It could mean physically going back to where you grew up, travelling to an ancient homeland or even just coming home to a place within yourself. I never thought that an impulsive trip to Edinburgh would result in me coming home. Edinburgh is a city of stories. Dripping with layers of history, it is very easy to get lost in the narrow alleyways that criss-cross the Royal Mile. The Edinburgh Castle stands watch at the centre of it all, like a sleeping stone giant. While in the distance the extinct volcano of Arthur’s seat sculpts the landscape, reminding you that once this ancient place was more wild than it seems today. A place of druids and forests and standing stone circles. There’s something so special about exploring a place where you have a heritage. With ties to both the Clark and Fleming clans I instantly felt this sense of belonging while walking the twisting cobbled streets, like I was tracing my ancestors’ footprints. At this point I had been a nomad for five months, a Kiwi by birth I found myself adrift in Canada, with a yearning for some familiarity in my life that shocked me into booking a trip to somewhere I had never been to but felt close in culture to the summers I spent in England as a child. On the first night in the city I wandered for miles and everywhere reminded me of a piece of my own history. There was the rundown Cornish pasty shop in the corner of the Waverly train station and the orange ticket stubs that littered the floor. A train sped past stretching its brakes and suddenly I was seven years old in London and my Granddad was holding my hand, an orange ticket stub clutched in my other fist. When walking between the imposing buildings of the university campus I marvelled at the groups of students chatting in hipster coffee shops and my own recent memories of my time on a campus resurfaced. That sense of purpose, stress filled coffee-induced nights in the library and possibility for the future. I have always loved the word serendipity, “the occurrence of an unplanned fortunate discovery”. It was on my last day in Scotland that I stumbled upon the tiny Celtic jewellery shop nestled down one of the skinniest alleys in the old city. The silver necklace was the first thing that caught my eye upon entering the shop. A Triquetra or Trinity knot. This Celtic symbol has many different meanings associated to it, much like the idea of coming home, the idea of place, and of history itself. Reading the short description under the pendant three words stuck out, ‘past, present and future’. That’s exactly what I felt about being here, like the three intertwining bands of the knot I felt deeply connected to this place. After wandering the university halls and discovering their programs I had decided to pursue a master’s degree here. In a place where I had a history and a story I had never felt so at home away from New Zealand. Call it fate, call it serendipity but here I stood surrounded by memories of the past in a dusty shop off the Royal Mile thinking of my future. In this city of stories I didn't expect to find my own story unwritten, I just had to pick up the pen.