Being home was actually a weird feeling. When I traveled back to Massachusetts last Tuesday, it was the first time that I had seen, or been back to everything that I had called home for 19 years. I was ecstatic to see my friends and family, sleep in my bed that wasn’t bunked, or let alone a twin bed. I couldn’t wait to be in my car, driving!-an everyday thing that I hadn’t done since August. And especially to have the luxury of opening my fridge and staring at the endless possibilities of home cooked food that I could have. And all of it was great. In coming home, I expected everything, and everyone to be different. I expected my room to be cleaned out, my friends to have changed at school, etc. But truly, aside from the color of my house (my mom had the house painted) everything was exactly the way it was when I had left. My family, my friends, my room… That’s the wonderful thing about home, it’s a reliable, comfortable place that I know no matter where I am, or how long I am gone everything will be exactly as how I left it.