They say home is where the heart is, and in many cases this is true. But home can also be where one lives, where one has lived previously, or where one’s friends and family live.
I’ve been thinking about how to define home since I began college. Duke is meant to be my second home, but to some Duke is not home and never became it. To others, Durham is home, because we spend 8 or more months a year here and will continue to do so for three years after the first.
My permanent address is in Huntersville, North Carolina, which is arguably my home. It’s where most of my mail goes. It’s listed in most blurbs about me; Nadia Bey of Huntersville, North Carolina. It’s where my family and friends are. If we’re at Duke and you ask where I’m from, I am from here. Sometimes I say Charlotte instead, as I’ve learned that that’s more recognizable than Huntersville, but to some, I’m not allowed to say I’m from Charlotte because I “don’t actually live in Charlotte”. (Should “Charlotte” refer to just Charlotte-Charlotte? Should it be the Charlotte metro area? Mecklenburg County? Is this how Triangle residents feel when you say “Raleigh-Durham”?) To most, home is where I reside.
When I arrived in Charlotte-Huntersville for fall break, Apple Maps told me that it would take 2 hours and 7 minutes to go home; home was my dorm. Just months earlier, it told me that it would take the same amount of time to get home from Durham. To my iPhone, home is wherever I spend most of my time.
Home is also where I anticipate being able to sleep within the next 24 hours. Whenever I spend a weekend out of town, I often find myself wishing I could go home. But I am not thinking of my house at my permanent address in Huntersville; I am thinking of a hotel room, or a cabin, or wherever there may be a bed and a shower and a place to relax. The same rings true at summer programs and on trips and at anytime when I spend more time out and about than at ease. To my body (and circadian rhythm), home is wherever I rest.
Before I lived in North Carolina, I lived on Long Island. For years I longed to go back, and when I finally went back one summer it felt like I was going home although I hadn’t set foot there in years. If we’re in Huntersville and you ask where I’m from, I am from here. But the majority of my memories are not here – they are in North Carolina, and yet I still view New York with childlike wonder, perhaps because I was only a child when I left. To my heart, home is where nostalgia is.
Although the meaning of home can be complex, none of these definitions hold any weight over the others. I will probably add more places to my home list in the future and come up with new ways to define them. Until then, I’ll live with the home I know.