An Open Letter To Neenah, Wisconsin
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Student Life

An Open Letter To Neenah, Wisconsin

Home is where the heart is.

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An Open Letter To Neenah, Wisconsin
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Dear Neenah,

You have been my whole world for so long. I’m aware that there’s a much bigger world out there - a world I can’t wait to explore. I’m in college now and no longer reside within your city limits for the majority of the year. But no matter how many years go by and how many miles get pushed between us, you will still always be my world. You are my home.

You have the library overlooking the water that Mom would cart us to once a week, with me obsessively rummaging through the shelves of the YA section, looking for a book that I haven’t read yet. The library that fills my heart with a special type of warmth as I push through the glass doors, and proceed to weigh down my arms with a stack of books much too high for my busy schedule.

You are lucky enough to be nestled along the Fox River, making Riverside Park a beautiful retreat from the pressures of the real world, even if it’s just for an hour or two. I remember running around the twisting path that lines the perimeter of the park in the freezing cold, having to jump into my car every few laps in order to warm my frostbitten hands. I have spent golden summer afternoons there lounging on a bench with a good book in my hand. It’s the site of the lame graduation party that the high school threw, in which my best friend and I ditched early to go to Walmart instead.

There’s the high school, a stretched out building with far too little parking, where my formative years took place. Your high school taught me many lessons - some good, some bad, some ugly. Within those walls, I shed tears of anger and received wounds in all the areas eyes can’t see. Stomach churning, I took countless exams clutching a number two pencil. I laughed with friends in the hallways and tried my hardest not to cringe during school assemblies. I crossed the stage in the fieldhouse wearing a brilliant red cap and gown, the whole graduation ceremony a surreal blur.

Then you have all the little spots coated in memories. The Dairy Queen on the corner, home to excited trips through the drive-thru for a Blizzard. The Pick n’ Save in which I worked at last summer, most of my shifts beginning at 6 a.m. Both of my middle schools stand tall, symbols of adolescence drama - and trauma. My extended family even dwells in your domain; my grandma lives by the high school, and my maternal grandparents reside in the section that I have to drive past the cemetery - the cemetery that my grandfather is buried in - in order to get there.

Lastly, you have my home. My house. The house that I’ve lived in all nineteen years of my existence. The first house that my parents bought when they were young. The house that my brother, as a toddler, would get up on a kitchen chair so he could reach the cookies in the cupboard. The house with the backyard that has a playset with a bright yellow slide, in which I fell off of and broke my elbow when I was six. The house that contains my bedroom, whose bright pink walls I painted light gray when I was entering high school. The house with the living room that showcases an obnoxiously large framed picture of my senior portrait. The house where I screamed at mother with middle school moodiness but now hug her tight when I have to leave to go back to college after a weekend much too short.

You, my one and only hometown, have been etched into my soul. Every sight, every street, and every stream you contain is stained inside my brain. I don’t know where this life will take me, but you will always be a part of me.


Sincerely,

Alicia

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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