I think a lot about the meaning of home, as I have a forever longing for it, but what it could mean feels blurry. I’m more and more believing that, to me, it is not a space but moments. The smells remind me of a warm day I spent at my grandmother’s house when I was a child, and the taste of a candy that colored my tongue—the one my mom wouldn’t allow me to eat.

​

I’m so lucky that I have these memories that I want to keep forever. I hope they last, though they are already fading like a good night dream that I had last night.

And I’m so lucky that I can create more moments to feel at home. The moments when I get a warm hug after a tough day, the moments when I get to share victories and glories as well as disappointments and sadness with my friends.