A place I remember by the feeling of butterflies in my stomach, nervous excitement, and a whole world of unknown. As I packed up 17 years into a minivan, my mom tried not to cry the whole way. If only I knew I'd find a place to call home.
New territory I had never explored in a town with people I had never met forced to jump in head first, finding my own kind of comfort.
My second home is the faces I've found that are not just friends, but family (Joke's on me, actually family, because my cousin lived down the hall from me). It's a home I found in the people around me. Extraordinary people, I wouldn't have met elsewhere. So I clung. I clung to these people who surrounded me, and surprisingly, they hung around me.
They say you might find your true love in college, and by god, I've found it. Not in a boy, but in a place on a map. I fell in love with the people, the atmosphere, the diversity; the world I never knew. I fell in love with the local restaurants that I can barely afford. I fell in love with a city that everyone around me shares a common love for as well.
For me, it's a place I've found myself. I left everything I ever knew behind; the stereotypes, the hallway drama, the exes, the clothes I grew out of (which is probably a good thing). A place where the only option was to be myself. A place I didn't have to conform to everyone around me, because I was where I genuinely wanted to be.
A home doesn't have to be a roof, running warm water (until I take it all after my shower), and a pantry full of food. A home is where I am. This home is my friends I adore, the experiences I've made, and the place where I learned how to do laundry. This is my home.
