As an international student, I must meticulously calculate the weight of each suitcase. Twenty-three kilograms feels too light—barely enough to hold a familiar mug or pillow. So I pack like assembling an “emergency survival kit,” selecting only what's truly “essential”: clothes, documents, medications...

Yet I cannot live solely on this survival kit. In a foreign city, I desperately need a place that feels like “home” to anchor myself.

Each time I depart from home, I imagine along the way: Could my new dwelling hold items I could reclaim as my own—a desk, a lamp, a small rug? They aren't merely objects, but my repeated attempts to grasp stability. I don't even need these items to carry heavy memories; as long as one thing in the room was purchased by me, the concept of “home” becomes etched into that space.

Yet I still carefully control the quantity, size, and value of what I can possess. These items must fit into a wardrobe, for I have no car and no permanent home. They need to assemble into a “home” swiftly when I pause, and revert to a 23-kilogram suitcase when I depart. Even the feeling of “ownership” has changed—unlike any purchase I made before. Each purchase feels like a lease: I pay in full, yet before clicking “buy,” I calculate how long I can keep it and its resale value in four years. So I can no longer invest my emotions in a single item like I did as a child; yet I must possess them—they sustain my sense of “home,” imprinting my presence in my space.

Heidegger wrote in Building, Dwelling, Thinking: “Dwelling is the mode of human existence.”

Yet in a life of perpetual flux, traditional “dwelling” becomes nearly impossible.

In this era of global mobility, home is no longer an address but a packable state of being.

Between arrivals and departures, I continually reconstruct my position through limited possessions.

作为留学生，我必须精确计算每次行李箱的重量。23 公斤太轻，轻得不足以容纳熟悉的杯子与枕头。于是我像打包一只“紧急生存包”，只筛选真正“有用”的东西：衣服、证件、药物……

可我不能只靠这只生存包生活。在异国的城市里，我迫切需要一个像“家”的地方来安放自己。

每次从家乡启程，我都会在路上想象：新的住所里，是否能有一些让我重新“占有”的东西——一张书桌、一盏灯、一块小地毯。它们不只是物件，而是我对稳定的一次次试探。我甚至不需要这些物品承载多少回忆；只要房间里有一样东西是由我购买的，“家”的概念就被我刻进了这个空间。

但我依然小心控制我能拥有的数量、体积与价值。这些物必须能被收纳进一个衣柜，因为我没有车，也没有固定的房子。它们需要在我停下时迅速拼装成“家”，在我离开时又能被还原为一只 23 千克的行李。连“拥有”的感觉都改变了——不像从前任何一次购买。每一次购买都像租赁：我付出全款，却在下单前反复计算我能拥有它的时间，以及四年后它的转手价值。所以我没法再把情绪寄托在某个特殊物品上像小时候那样；但我又必须拥有它们——它们维系着我对“家”的感知，让我的痕迹出现在我的空间。

Heidegger 在《建造·居住·思考》中写道：“居住是人之存在的方式。”

可在持续流动的生活中，传统意义上的“居住”几乎无法实现。

在全球流动的年代，家不再是一处地址，而是一种可被打包的状态。

我在一次次抵达与离开之间，用有限的占有，持续重建“我”的位置。