Home is where the heart is…
Growing up, I was never really a homesick kid. Going away for summer camp, spending months on international exchanges, even the first sleepovers I attended — none ever brought with them the feeling of loneliness or isolation. For a long time, people used to ask me why I never missed being away from home, assuming there must be some crisis or situation where I lived that I was clearly trying to escape from.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my family more than anything, and my siblings are my best friends — although don’t tell them that — but I've spent my whole life trying to find happiness in whatever environment I’m surrounded by. In my travels, I've found that home is not a physical place, nor is it defined by how many years you've resided in one city or where you lay your head at night.
The concept of home to me has always been associated with wherever I have found myself laughing or surrounded by friends (be they old or new). It’s been where I wake up each day with a smile on my face, a view that takes my breath away, or a challenge I can conquer. Whether those characteristics best correspond to a shabby cabin bunk bed at sleep away camp, a hostel in the Swiss Alps, or a suspiciously stained mattress in Victoria Hall, remains irrelevant.
University can be a scary place, and it sometimes may seem as though your home will always remain a permanent fixture 1,000 miles away. At the end of the day though, it’s not about what you miss from the past — it’s about what you can look forward to in the future. Home will always be where the heart is, and as long as I’m smiling where I am, that’s where I’ll feel most like I belong.