When I was young, I cried at everything. It is still my reputation in the family; all my aunts, uncles and cousins remember me as a crier. One of my most embarrassing crying memories is when my godparents picked me and my siblings up from our home. I cried the whole 50-minute drive to their home. When I say cry, I don't mean that I shed a tear while quietly whimpering. I mean I would execute a full on sobbing, screaming tantrum for 50 minutes straight. (I must've been a cute kid or something because I sound like a real pain.) I cried in different settings too: when I was happy, sad, angry or confused. However, I think my crying was the absolute worst when I went to visit my godparents because I had to leave my home.

Home was and still is my comfortable, fun and safe place. Every pirate adventure, princess journey and mud pie making contest I laid out for myself and my siblings was completed in my little house. Nearly every meal I made for myself was made in my home and, for nearly every night since I was born, I slept in that house. How could I bear the thought of ever leaving?

Well, surprise, surprise, I did because I had to. I went to college in Maine, and it wasn't that painful for me to do, actually. It wasn't hard for me to do simply because I felt ready. I was no longer that crying child who took every opportunity to be upset to actually be upset. I had matured, to some degree, by the time I was 18 and, obviously, it takes different people different times to be ready to leave home.

Home to me is not just my house; home can be the place where someone lives, where one plants roots that grow along with them as they develop, or simply somewhere they know they can always come back to. Another home for me is the polytechnic school that I attended for 14 years. This place is literally my home away from home, and I probably spent the same amount of time or even more time there than in my physical house. Another home for me is my church, Harvest Rock Church in Pasadena, which I've attended since I was 3.

Now, my new home is Bates College, my current school. Clearly, there is a trend here: homes are places you spend time, energy and sometimes money to feel like you belong there. Homes are where you make memories and cherish them. Homes are precious gems that have a completely overwhelming impact on how we are all brought up and how we see the world.

When we come home, as we age, things start to change. Now that I'm 19, I can look back at my past and see how "coming home" has its benefits and downsides. For example, my mom is a creator and renovator. She loves to change things in our house all the time. In fact, her most recent purchase was an orange, leather couch for our living room! Now whenever I come home, it looks a little different because I don't live there permanently anymore. Seeing these little changes, like a wall being painted, a new piece of furniture or the movement of a flower pot affects me. It's usually a positive effect though; my mom can do what she wants because it's her house, but seeing my house change takes away those memories I made in that empty corner that now has a chair or that wall that I slammed my head on one day being covered by a mirror. Another disheartening thing about growing up is the fact that you have to leave home eventually. Summers become about work and moving on and new beginnings. It's bittersweet, but it's necessary.

No matter what stage of life you are in, be grateful for your home. That home can be a dance studio, a football field, a school or your physical home. Always come back home. It may change in big or small ways, but it's home. As we age, we'll find new meaningful places to live and plant our roots, but never forget where you came from.