People think it's novel to ask, "Where do you consider Home?" when you go to college. It's a new experience, living in a new place, but there's still the place you used to live inviting you back on various breaks or lucky weekends. It's really strange, because you're supposed to feel most comfortable in one place, and that's where you're home.

But my home isn't going to be there for much longer. I go to an expensive college, which requires that my house in a small town be sold as the land value has gone through the roof because of all the rich people who want to pretend they're just upper middle class. All those three story gods that look almost ready for battle, put up in a matter of months, they're the ones that are going to populate my town in another decade. The houses like mine, the one my grandfather built himself, they're not. As soon as I get out of college and find a place of my own, the house I used to live in is going to be torn down, and two of those cookie cutter houses put on the same land. It would be ridiculous not to.

But I don't feel safer at my house. I know it's not going to be there much longer, so I don't feel like that is my home. But I know next year my dorm is going to be occupied by someone else, so I barely feel attached to where I am now either. I can't even put up things on the ceiling, or panit the walls, or put in a new rug. I can't even use my own furniture, instead of this uncomfortable college sized bed. I can't even have the whole room, I'm forced to share it with someone else already. It was never mine in the first place.

A week before I left for home for christmas vacation, my dog had to be put to sleep. I knew it was coming, she was old. She became a part of my family when I was in kindergarden- we aged along side one another. Sixth grade, she was six, twelth grade she was twelve. I wasn't there, because a snowstorm had kept me stuck at school for the weekend when she was put down.

I got a phone call two hours before she was taken in, and that was my only warning. I loved this dog like no other, but when the call came, I didn't cry. I didn't really hurt, either. I just felt a slight tinge, but I knew it was coming. When I came to college I already knew the dog wouldn't survive my college four years. It's like I cut this piece of me out of my heart, and it died slowly over the months I was away. I knew she wasn't going to live much longer. I just let her go.

Some people will tell you they feel at home in someone's arms, they get that warmth of safety from the smiles of their friends, but one by one, they've all got expiration dates. All my highschool friends expired when they left for their own colleges around the country. The couch I slept on in my room, instead of a bed by choice, expired when it got so ratty it had to be thrown out. The computers I've gone through, the cars I've driven, all these things where I put myself, they all end up gone. Hell, how long before my parents go will I accept that they have to?

So what do I answer? I could tell them that there is no home for me, there are no friends I take solace in, no place where I feel 'at home'. I could tell them years of cutting out that which won't survive in my life has pushed me to live in the instantaneous moment, and the only time I'm ever really feeling safe or happy or at ease is when I'm half asleep with a girl in my arms- but what can you say?

"My house and my dorm feel about the same."

When you really mean,


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