One of my friends from back home recently said he was going to “go home and change” then meet me for dinner. I was so confused. And for a moment, I refused to accept that he called it home. I began to question whether I even had a home anymore. “Home,” home was so far away to even be mine anymore, while Prentiss Hall was a stranger to me.
But then I thought about it: how many homes will I really have in my life time? In reality, home is what I make of it. Home is the 3rd booth against the railing in Reid Campus Center. Home is the lonely table in the corner at the Cleveland Commons. Home is my mother’s arms, my father’s laughter, and my roommate munching on popcorn. I am not a kid anymore. I may be naive and inexperienced, but I am my own person at this point. It is something I must accept and most importantly, learn to appreciate.
Being in a small town and living within such a small community of Whitties makes the transition a bit easier. But the struggle continues as I try to find my own path. The thing that comforts me is that I have “homes” all over the place. I must build them as I go.