Home

It's so strange to be in a place that is so familiar and foreign at the same time. Coming to my parent's house after spending the last 6 months at camp or my school apartment creates in me a wide array of feelings. It's great to be back, and the house is so familiar and welcoming. However, having a dishwasher is a little foriegn to me. Talking to my mom is familiar, living with her is foreign. Familiar: sleeping. Foreign: sleeping in a room that doesn't have music, sex, loud talking, or the trash chute anywhere near it. Familiar:my dog. Foreign: the smell of my dog. Familiar: my little brother Foreign: my littler brother looking increasingly like a young man and less and less like the 5 year-old I still sometimes define him as. Familiar: a computer. Foreign: a desktop computer on which I don't have to worry that I will accidentaly hit the mouse button and click on something I don't want to click on. Familiar: talking online. Foreign: talking online to my roommate, since I usually can just walk right into her room, or yell across the hall.

At home I can be relaxed, at home I can revert a little bit to the naieve high-schooler I was before I left for college 3 years ago. But also at home I must be the good daughter in a very visible way. At home I must show, in action and conversation, that I am a mature adult who can look after herself. At home I must be a tangible form of example for my little brother.

Yet depspite these additional stresses, at home I am at the one place where I know I am unconditionally loved, and when a big dinner is cooked because I'm home, I feel honored and appreciative. At home I am reminded of how proud I am of my parents and my family, and to hear them tell me they are proud of me is all I need to really feel at home.