When I was younger, my mom introduced me to her favorite childhood book, “The Secret Garden.” I loved that book and the ornate old copy we had at home, as well as the movie. I guess it runs in the family. If I’m being honest, nowadays I don’t even remember the plot very well. There is one basic idea that has stuck with me until now, though; having a secret and special place to yourself is a sort of magic.

As I’ve grown up, I have always loved adventures and exploring. Whenever I found a special spot in my adventures, I always felt some sense of ownership over it. These places became my own personal ‘secret gardens’. In my small suburban hometown, I have countless of these spots — an abandoned tree-house by my house, a small alley tucked between two mansions, or a small bridge over a polluted stream to name a few.

But my family did not like to stay put, and as we moved, my ‘secret gardens’ multiplied.

When my family spent a year in Jerusalem, I finally had a real city to explore and more than just a tree-house to discover. Over the time that I lived in that historic and fascinating city, I came to feel that all sorts of corners in the city were mine. For example, a second-hand store crammed full of vintage dresses and creepy old dolls that I found in an alley or a cozy waffle shop in downtown Jerusalem.

My favorite of these secret places by far was a courtyard that I passed every day on my route to school. Day after day I walked by a gap between two buildings and caught a glimpse of a courtyard with an elaborate fountain and exotic trees. As I accumulated these places that belonged to me, I felt more and more that I myself belonged in Jerusalem.

This habit may seem childish, but it has stuck even as I’ve grown up. Every city or town I have lived in is full of my "secret gardens," unbeknownst to everyone else living there. When I go back and visit, I know just what path to take, what coffee shop to go to to feel that nostalgia and sense of belonging all over again.

Now in college, I have been working on finding those places for myself. It’s harder here, though, than it has ever been for me before. Maybe it’s because I don’t seem to have the time to wander and explore; instead, I am constantly rushing from class to class. More than that, though, college feels more transient to me.

For all of the students wandering my campus, no one seems ready to settle down, knowing that soon they will be off again, thrown out into the real world. But I have a nagging feeling in my stomach, that without those special spots belonging to me, Rutgers won’t really become a home for me.