I’m No Home
Austel’s “I’m No Home” feels like a song written in the in-between, between presence and absence, memory and becoming. It is a slow-burning piece that doesn’t just explore alienation, it inhabits it. The piano at the opening, recorded on her grandmother’s instrument, is less an intro than a portal. What follows is a gentle unraveling. A voice caught between worlds, dissolving into a mist of soundscapes, perfectly blended in. There is something deeply generational in the way Austel frames identity, not as a destination but as a question that keeps asking itself. She describes the track as a reflection on how difficult it is to feel at home in your own skin. “This unending act of seeking wholeness is perhaps what is so complex and beautiful about being alive,” she says. “I’m No Home” speaks to the quiet loneliness of modern introspection, to a culture that has made selfhood a constant construction site. The song doesn’t offer answers, only the beauty of staying with the uncertainty.