It's post-sophomore year of college and the number of times I've heard people say "I'm going anywhere but home this summer," is far greater than I can count - and not to toot my own horn or anything, but being an engineer, I can count pretty high.

But that's besides the point.

The point is, I couldn't imagine not being home. I get it. Parents are annoying. It's hard living under a roof with rules after all the freedom that college has given us. And many of us claim that there's "literally nothing to do at home." College has exposed us to frat parties, date parties, crush parties, toga parties - the list goes on. We're all so used to always going out and trying to get on the list of the next biggest party of the year. So when the idea of going home for three months crosses our brain, we panic. We can't fathom the idea of not going out every night, and having to report back to mom and dad at every waking moment.

But I've truly never had a problem with going home. Actually, I crave going back home the second I've left my house to go back to school. No, it's not because I don't love the university I go to - believe me, you can't be a true Hokie unless you love Virginia Tech – but it’s because my home helped build me into who I am today.

And I truly didn’t appreciate that until I had finally left for college two years ago. I remember packing up my room and seeing my closet slowly dwindle down to a couple of old t-shirts and jeans that no longer fit. I remember taking one last look at all the pictures hanging up on my wall. I remember closing my bedroom door for (what I thought would be) the last time, and saying goodbye to every room in my house. And on my three and a half hour drive into this new chapter of my life, my heart actually ached. It was like a little bit of my heart had physically been removed, and nothing in college could ever replace it. But whenever I came home, my heart felt whole again.

Maybe it’s because home is as much of a community as the one at school. You know, where we all come together in support during hard times, and we all celebrate together during the good times. Where you trust your neighbors to house sit for you when you leave town for the weekend. Where we ask how each other is doing when we run into one another at the grocery store.

Maybe it’s because home is the best food I’ve ever had. You know, the home cooked kind. The kind that mom makes two hours before dinner. The kind that sends a warm, happy feeling through your body with each bite. The kind that sends aromas through the house and calls you down for breakfast on an early Sunday morning.

Maybe it’s because home is comfort. You know, the thing that gets you through the worst of the bad days. The thing that gets you through the fights with your best friends, and reminds you to tell them you’re sorry – regardless of who was right and who was wrong. The thing that gets you through the pain of heartbreaks and heartaches.

I’ve come to love being home. Regardless of my parents’ rules or the seemingly boring town, home has become one of the few things I’ve been able to count on in the past years. It’s the reminder that things will be okay in the end – no matter how hard the days have become or how discouraged I’ve become, it’s the reminder that the sun will rise once more, and when it does, so will I.

And while I long to travel and see the world in the coming years, I know I’ll always be more than happy to return home.