So many years since I figured out where ‘home’ actually was, and almost every year since I have been away from there. My short time back was blissful, despite living in an apartment filled with mice, sleeping in a bathtub, and not having a refrigerator that worked properly. I made friends quickly, I hung out with coworkers after work even, I sat perfectly alone in a crowded city and was peaceful. I could walk up and down the city streets listening to the local bands playing somewhere nearby, my eyes filling up with the lights of every store around me, of the twinkle lights strung on the trees, and all of it just felt right, like I was finally back home, finally back where I belonged. 

When I moved away again it was almost as dramatic as the first time. The rain was pouring down and as I stood on the balcony of my very first apartment I felt a heaviness in my heart. I have always said maybe it was raining for me, crying that I had to leave again. The first time I left? Two of my good friends, one my best friend, were on the hood of a car waving at me as I pulled away in a Greyhound bus bound for the West. I honestly don’t think it hit me until just now how powerful of a moment that was in my life. 

Five years here and it still feels nowhere like home. I lost the only friend I made here, save for my husband. We go out and enjoy the local festivals, we try to get involved in our community, we’ve even gone to a church potluck! – still nothing though. People used to tell me that you can make anywhere your home, it’s all about opening up to it. You can settle anywhere, but that doesn’t make it your home. If you don’t like the people, the personality of the city, the things that make that place and those people unique - the things that make them them, what do you do then? You’ll never be at home, just pretending. That’s my experience anyway. I’m homesick, and it sucks.