As a high school student, your home was everything. Your home was the place you rushed to as soon as the 2:15 bell rung. Your home was the place you craved when you were sick or upset. Your home was the place where you spent hours studying and doing homework. Your home was the centerpiece that brought your family all together come dinner-time. There was nothing more satisfying than curling up by the fire place, watching tv and having your mom bring you hot chocolate. There was nothing more satisfying than crawling into bed after a long day. There was nothing more satisfying than knowing that your home was so close by.
Then we graduate. We go to college. The place we once called home is so distant and so far away. The place where we study, sleep, eat and go to when we are sick has changed. Before we know it, these changes have become our new life. The place we once referred to as “home” has changed.
When faced with the task of redefining what it means to be “home,” the breakdown was simple. I now have two homes: a temporary home and permanent home. My temporary home is school. My permanent home is the place where my childhood memories were created. However, it is unique to live in two places that can so comfortably be called “home.”
My temporary home is the place where my mind is maturing, growing and becoming more educated. My temporary home has now shrunk to the size of a dorm room. The bed I now long for when I am sick, tired or upset is in a room with another person’s bed. The place (my room) I used to escape to when I needed alone time is now occupied by another presence who might be going through their own stresses and problems. The table my family used to sit around no longer exists. Now, my home is a round table at my sorority house. My temporary home is not a place where I can escape school as now school surrounds me 24/7. While these might be drastic differences from my permanent home, I altered my definition of “home” to make me still feel comfortable. In doing so, I had several realizations. First, although I do not eat with my immediate family, I now eat with people I consider my family. Second, while I might not be going to bed knowing my parents are down the hall, I go to sleep with the comfort that if need be my roommate would help me in a heartbeat. In fact, I have surrounded myself with many people living in my dorm that I know could step in if help were needed. Third, I have decorated my living quarters to be a place that feels “homey” and that I long for when sitting through a dreary class. These three realizations alone, have made me come to the conclusion that my temporary home can truly be called a home.
So, when it comes time for break, returning to my permanent home takes on a new meaning. Returning home means being surrounded by real family and having true alone time. Returning home means home-cooked meals. Returning home truly means escaping school. Returning home means being dependent and relying on others to do your laundry. Returning home means getting a reminder that while my life has changed, as soon as I step through the threshold of my permanent doorstep, I am a child again. Ultimately, it is scary to think that the place you cherish so much is now the place you visit a few weeks of the year. However, there is comfort in knowing that school has become a place I can also call home.
