Throughout my junior and senior years of high school, I dreaded the moment I’d have to choose a college: the place I’d spend the next four years of my life. I always imagined myself moving far away, starting fresh, meeting new faces, and leaving behind every tie to high school.
But when the time finally came to decide, I realized just how much I’d be leaving behind.
My little brother, six years younger than me, was just starting modified sports and getting ready for the middle school musical. Moving far away meant missing the chance to cheer him on. My older sister—always down for a spontaneous mall trip or a new piercing—would no longer be just a quick call and drive away. My best friends, the two I desperately wanted to stay close to, would suddenly be multiple states away, living lives I could only watch from a distance.
Suddenly, leaving home didn’t feel as great as I once imagined.
In the end, I chose a school only 45 minutes from my high school, close enough to visit without losing an entire day, but far enough to feel like I was stepping into something new. It turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
My first semester was everything I hoped for and more. However, when finals and deadlines piled up at the end of the semester, I felt socially and academically burnt out. I was ready to go home.
Break flew by and dragged on at the same time. At every holiday party, relatives asked how I liked college. I told them all the same thing: I loved it. When they asked how it felt to be home, I repeated the same lie. I did love being on break—sleeping in, slowing down, catching up with my hometown friends. However, the truth was that I was ready to go back.
When I pictured my bed and my room, I didn’t picture my childhood bedroom. I pictured my dorm. I pictured falling asleep next to my roommate instead of alone. I missed my college friends. I missed my routine. The reality was that home no longer felt like home.
Yes, the familiar sound of my dogs barking, the smell of my grandma’s cooking, and the snarky comments from my little brother still felt comforting—but I was growing roots somewhere else.
Whenever I feel homesick, it’s not for a place. It’s for the familiarity of the last 12 years of my life. I want to go back and freeze everything exactly as it was. But when I finally went home, I found myself wanting to leave again. That month between semesters gave me time to reflect, to recognize the ways I’ve changed, and to ask myself a question I never expected:
Where is home now?