What is a home? One of my friends a few years ago did an essay on that very topic. She asked me to be part of the paper. The interview was about what home meant for me. At that time, I lived in the Berkeley dorms. I never said I was going back home ever. I told people that I would be going back to the dorm or go to Lafayette. Ultimately, at the time, she was able to imply that I didn\’t have a home.

And now? I could call my parents\’ house in Lafayette home. I also could say that the house in Pittsburgh is my home. But I entirely avoid the use of the word home. Mostly for the fact that it isn\’t permanent. Is it home if my primary sleeping area is there? Is it home if my desk is there? Is it home where I can keep my food together? A place that I call my own? But what if I keep all my things in two places? Am I referring to the entire city? The entire state? Just my room? And the bathroom?

In Berkeley, because of that belief, I always would be confused if someone said they were going home. Normally, I took it to be their original hometown. The parents\’ house. I miss home meant that they missed their hometown, their friends, their family, the things they grew up around. Because that was the most typical desire.

Home is one of those words that would always puzzle me. Go home.