They say that, "Home is where the heart is." If there’s one thing that’s become second nature to me while living on a college campus, it’s that one of the first things we often ask someone when we meet them right after we learn their name is, “Where are you from?” Having answered this question hundreds of times myself, my automatic answer is always “Indianapolis, Indiana.” This 2015-2016 school year, being my first year as a college freshman, has been an experience where I have been able to put down new roots. While I love my personal space away from Indianapolis, a space I can call my own, where I am able to breathe freely and live independently, I’m left asking myself, what truly makes home, home? The answer is that a house is just four walls and a roof, but a home is made up of everything else inside.

If there’s one thing every child grows up discovering, it’s the specific noises that come with their home, and their home alone. For me, it was the staircase that squeaked with every step. It was the sound of my dad's voice echoing throughout the house when he made business calls. It was the barking made by our family dogs, and despite their incessant woofing, the sounds of the laughter and giggling they brought to the family anyway. It was the distinct steps of individual family members that pounded the wooden floor in ways we each could distinguish without even looking. Pots and pans clanging, doors slamming, showers turning on, the list could honestly go on forever. All are sounds that seemed all too insignificant at the time, but today, those sounds, along with the memories that came with them, seem so ingrained in the memories of my home, that I don’t feel guilty for missing them every once in a while. These were the noises that gave my home the unmistakable buzz of life.

Every child has to leave eventually, but looking back, it’s the little quirks about the place we called home that truly stick with us. Growing up, our house was lived in. To us, home was always a pair of shoes in the corner, a blanket on the couch, mail and magazines strewn about, and a jumble of jackets and scarves on the entryway hooks. Home was coffee cups left on the table and everyone’s beds left unmade. Home was where we spent every weekend in our pajamas with only comfort and never fashion in mind. Home was the junk drawer that forever needed organizing. Home was always filled with at least three dogs. And home was always the place where my family members were the first people I saw every morning, and the last people I saw before I went to sleep.

As cheesy as it sounds, no home is truly complete without the people who make it so special. My family turned our home into a safe space, a place of refuge, and a place we could always be ourselves. I guess it’s no secret that truly, the best part about my home was the people – my family, best friends, boyfriend, and other loved ones who simply created memories whenever they came in through the front door.

Despite the fact that I’ve “grown up” and moved out to college, I know that I will always have my home to go back to. I will always have loving parents who will welcome me back, and even when I never officially return, that comfort is irreplaceable. And their example has shown me what a real home looks like. Whether its just a roommate in a college dormitory, future housemates in a temporary house, or a place where I will have a family of my own one day, it's safe to say I know that without a doubt, we'll all become attached and cling to the place we call home, because wherever that is, and no matter for how long, it will always hold a special place in our hearts.