"Home is where your heart is", claims the well-known cliche, and since moving away, this particular saying has become increasingly accurate.

Living four hours away from Cleveland isn't a lot, but it's enough for someone to feel like they have officially "moved away from home". Living with my best friend from high school helps keep that connection to home, but other than her, there isn't a lot that has followed me to Cincinnati.

Compared to Cleveland, Cincinnati might as well be on a different continent. Cincy doesn't even have a Giant Eagle (If you find yourself wondering what a "Giant Eagle" is- you have only helped to prove my point). This makes returning home even more interesting, as if feels like traveling to a different world rather than just hopping from city to city.

I'm lucky enough to live with my best friend, who also has a car on campus. This means the freedom to make the four-hour trek whenever we please- yet, we've only gone home three times this year.

Each time we leave the apartment for the trip, we find ourselves feeling the same way- resistant and a little uneasy. We've made the comment every time that it feels almost as if we are leaving home instead of heading there. We're excited to go home, don't get me wrong, but it's often as if it would be better if we could scoop up our relatives and bring them to Cincy, the place that feels more like home than Cleveland ever did, to be completely honest.

I have a theory for this particular feeling. Cincy is ours. We chose to be there. We have our own apartment that we spent hours and grew gray hairs just trying to furnish. It's all ours- our style and our everything is set up to our liking. We do the dishes, vacuum the living room, and panic when the microwave shows "2:14" instead of "12:14" because it simply refuses to show four digits.

We even have a pet- and everyone knows that having a pet fish named Ms. Chanandler Bong (if you don't get this reference, you need to watch Friends more often) is the ultimate way to make an apartment a bit more homey. (For those of you who are skeptical- yes, we do have a fish and yes, that is his name. He's amazing and I love him more than most of my friends. No shame.)

Leaving my apartment is hard. I'm going from a place where I can be completely myself to a place where I have to censor my language and adjust my expectations of the people around me. It's not that I don't love being home, because I do- very much so. Being with the people I love is much better than missing them in any sort of situation. I get to see my parents and my Grandmother, whom of which is my favorite person on the face of this earth. I even get to see my favorite teacher from high school, whom I miss very much since moving away. She was one of the only things keeping me sane in high school and learning how to deal with school without her has been transition that deserves an article all on it's own.

I find it comforting to feel like Cincy is just as much, if not more "home" than Cleveland is, because I know some people aren't so lucky. I am so blessed to have two amazing places (and sets of people) to call home and I wouldn't want it any other way.