The way I have learned to define what "home" means to me is similar to the way we experience a 24-hour day on earth - a mixture of "day" and "night." Embarking on a new journey in life (in this case, going to university) doesn't really come easy to anyone, especially when it requires moving to the complete opposite side of the country by yourself, making you question if the place you grew up calling home is still home when you now spend most of your time and gain more experiences in this new, polar-opposite place.

I'm from Rhode Island, a small state that most people in the United States don't even know exists. A state with a small-town vibe...minus the hospitality. A state that is considered part of "Southern New England," a region notoriously known for being one of the "darkest" places in the country. People are always in a rush, and the endlessly-changing crappy weather tends to put people in a perpetual less-than-pleasant mood.

But, underneath this dark cloak of night that shadows "Little Rhody," it is home. It is the place I grew up to call home for nearly eighteen years of my life. My family all lived within twenty-five minutes of me, and traveling wasn't something we did very often, so all of my experiences and growth happened primarily in Rhode Island. It is the place where I sat on the edge of the Providence River and drew the city in my sketchbook, while listening to “Brand New” and “Glass Animals” during my summer art classes at RISD, the very same place I met one of my best friends who lives in Poland. The place where I'd procrastinate on homework while waiting up to see if school was cancelled from yet another blizzard. The place where I found a second family through my teachers, where my grandparents became my best friends. And, the place where I found my strength and identity through art, writing, music, and academics.

Initially, I thought moving to Los Angeles meant forgetting all of home and getting a fresh start - an escape from dark and dreary New England into sunny and bright Los Angeles. But, once I did move there, I felt like I was living a double life - and I'm sure I'm not the first college student to experience that feeling. I felt like I had temporarily lost my true identity and the person I defined myself as in Rhode Island was not lost but was now trying to fit in to the culture of Los Angeles. Yet, what I came to realize is that no day would be complete in Los Angeles if the sunset didn't orchestrate colors to paint the sky as it turned black, welcoming the night and allowing darkness to cover the city to make way for the vibrant city night life. And, in the same way that the day communicates with the night through the beautifully orchestrated sunset we cast our eyes on each day, I allow the communication between my night and day as I bring pieces of Rhode Island to Los Angeles and pieces of Los Angeles to Rhode Island to create my idea of “home" - all of which lie at the crossroads of these two places. And by allowing for the communication between the two, I learned that my home state wasn’t as dark and depressing as I always perceived it to be. It holds some of my greatest memories and most intimate pieces of my life where I attained strength and where I felt my absolute weakest. In fact, moving away has allowed me to love and appreciate New England in a different way and become more grateful to define my home as the crossroads of these two places.

A place doesn't make a home, but what you as an individual bring to that place (or places) does. Your experiences, strength, maturity, and growth that take place wherever they may create a home as well as the people you share those with. And, whether you love your hometown or hate it, it is a part of you and holds fragile pieces of your life. So, as you move on with your journey through college and life, the best thing you can do is not to lose yourself somewhere between your hometown and the place you are moving to, but to be the translator between the two - even if they are as opposite as night and day. Bring pieces of each to these two separate, but close "homes" because, through this, you will begin to learn more about yourself and your place in the world.