Where is home?

This morning, my phone kept ringing. I was still sleeping. It was strange. The lights were still on since last night. I did not change my clothes and slept with my contacts!! Oh when did I go to sleep? I couldn't remember. I just fell asleep and I woke up to the ringing of the phone. I said "hello" and was too confused at the beginning. Who is it? The person on the other side said hello I am here at your office! Yes yes my office. I could sense the office's millieu. The same background, the same quietness, the same noise...and he said here talk to Mariam. So Mariam gets the phone and rejoices as she speaks to me. She quickly tells me about my salary for this month, the deductions that she made for the gam3eya and the phone bill and everything. I could hear the silent sounds of my fish that is still alive and my air condition that is off and my assistant going back and forth in the office to make sure he is instilling order. I could sense the color on the wall, chocolate brown as I chose it to be and my picture with Mariam on her wedding day. Yes yes, this is home. And the person on the phone is my.....? Let me see. He is the one who got me the fish and the plants in my balcony. He is the one who fixes my coffee and brings me flowers. He is the last person I say good night to and he wakes me up to say "el shams tel3et bara we mestanyaky 3alashan tesaba7y 3aleiha". Oh yes...I can tell...he is my home.
But does my soul have another home? Where am I residing now? Am I on a trip somewhere? I can hear this familiar song that I used to love as a kid, "Sindbad la yakhaf mahma tablogho al ahwal wa yab3odo 3an Baghdad". I loved Sindbad. I ran to my new place. I struggled with words...what do I call it...a rented home...my hotel room...my "holiday inn". What is it? I ran to my room that has become so familiar now but....I feel the same way as I feel with my first home...that this wwill never be home forever. Can they both be temporary houses, rented for sometime? No matter how much it feels home, it is not home. And I run here and there to touch the walls and walk on the floors and make sure that everything still exists, that I can still keep my home. And I attempt to read his blog looking for a clue. And here it was, he said...."She left". He never changed that although he wanted many times to go back and write but he never did it as if this reality has to be there for both of us to see and grasp until it sinks in. That reminded me that I previously made reservations and planned for a check out. The question is when? When can I check out? When will the vacation be over and where will I find my permanent home?