home

Here are a few pics from my last night in Europe. I had just one night in paris before flying out today. It was strange and wonderfully fulfilling to be back where I began my trip, but feeling like a whole new person.

Now I am home. I thought about that word a lot on the plane - home. What does that really mean? Each evening for the past 6 weeks, after a long day of sight-seeing, I have said, "let's go home," but I obviously just meant whatever hostel or couch I was sleeping on. When people would ask me where I am from, I said "I'm from philadelphia, but have been living in D.C. for 4 years." But I don't really live in D.C., I live in Maryland. And I didn't really grow up in philly, I grew up in Allentown. But people recognize the big cities more easily. And, truthfully, I will be moving back into D.C. in 2 weeks. And then of course, every time I go to see my parents in pennsylvania, I also say that I am going home. That's complicated.

So if home moves with us, then is it really an external place? An address? A bed to sleep in or a kitchen to cook in, perhaps? Maybe home is something that exists within us. I think home is a place where you can be yourself. Where, as they say in Cheers, "everybody knows your name." It has something to do with belonging. But then, I don't always feel like I belong in America, especially after seeing the rest of the world's image of Americans. (I'm not gonna lie to you folks, it's not pretty.) So does that mean I'm not American? A part of me belongs in America, sure, but I felt like I recognized a part of me in each city I visited on this trip as well. I'd like to think I can be a citizen of the world. So that means that I belong everywhere, and everywhere belongs in me. In that case, I would say "I'm home," but I guess. . . I always have been.