Home Sweet Home
Whoever invented college was a genius. There are minimal responsibilities, large amounts of freedom, and places that will deliver food to your dorm at 3 a.m..
But home is where the heart is and also where the Christmas presents were.
In the last days of break I was talking with one of my friends from high school who said she was glad to be going home.
“Home?” I said.
“Yeah,” she said, “Back to college. That’s my home now.”
The question of what is home bugs me. When asked my address on forms, I hesitate. When I told my parents I left my book in my room, I have to specify between my dorm room and my old room? The room back at my house? The room back at my parents house?
For some reason, a dorm room doesn’t feel like home to me. But the home I return to on break feels more like my grandparent’s cottage up by a lake we used to visit a few times each year. It’s comfortable, relaxing, familiar, but it’s missing the bustle of life I had there. The house I grew up in is far removed from my life now. It’s away from school, from work, from the life I’ve created in the last four months.
Home is where the heart is. Maybe for now that just means wherever I am.






Commentary
Add your $0.02, go to the comment form or follow the comment feed