I never thought of myself as homeless until I filled out my financial aid paperwork and realized that when filling out a permanent address, I was completely stumped. After my mom passed away right before graduating from high school, my home was nonexistent. It didn't have the same smell of cinnamon and sugar cookie Yankee Candles, nor did it feel the same. From one day to the next, my home went from a safe place to a foreign one.

In the beginning months of college, I was told to write an essay on the importance of a home. This essay was relating to how a bunch of things can make a house a home. At that time, I swore that it wasn't true. I thought that a home is where all of your loved ones are. In a sense, that's true, but I never took into account what makes a home if your loved one is no longer here. This notion didn't come to me after I moved out of my home permanently. Putting all these things into a storage unit is what broke me. That is the true moment when I became homeless.

The definition of homeless is much broader than one may think. Even I thought that someone who is homeless must live on the streets. This is not the case for every homeless person. I am displaced, in between, and homeless.

In my defense, I do always have a place to stay. Because of the undying support of my family and friends, I never have to worry about not having a place to stay. I sleep on their beds and in their spare rooms staring at their home. To me, their place is quite foreign. Although I've been to them before and had great memories there, a home cannot be somewhere other than my own.

That's my point: all the places I stay, they're not my home. They're a place in which I stay. Not having Yankee Candles around. Not having pictures of my childhood hung on the wall. Not having Cherished Teddies decorating the tables. Not having the dining room table and bathroom correspond with each season. Not having an endless supply of wall fresheners. All of these things that have no meaning share in all meaning of what a home is. Although these things seem pointless, they are the things that made up a home-- my home.

Not having a home creates a feeling of isolation that I can't even begin to describe. The level of comfort in a home is much different than that in a place.

My home is gone, but my passion to create one again is still in me. I cannot wait to make a home for myself and invite everyone who has helped me along the way over. With that, I thank you.