Where is home?

When someone asks you where you're from, what do you say? It should all depend. I get asked in class and I say, Farmington Hills. I get asked in Arizona or New York and I say Michigan in a city just outside Detroit. But the thing is, East Lansing is my home. I have spent more time in East Lansing, going to school at Michigan State the past three years than anywhere else. And it has taken me quite some time to embrace this city. Maybe I'm caught up in spring fever, the grass doesn't look so brown, the trees are sprouting buds and color is appearing everywhere. Beautiful girls are coming out of the woodwork (I still would like to know where they go during winter) and short sightings are more common than MSU t-shirts.

I have officially embraced the quirks of East Lansing. The broken glass on sidewalks, seeing the lonely walks of shame early in the morning, homeless people eating ravioli, ridiculously long lines at the bar, police officers preying on the under aged, and lots and lots of sweatpants. I think I like East Lansing better than Farmington Hills, a place I still technically call home. Sure, being at my house in Farmington Hills is great. The refrigerator and cupboards are chock full of delicious food, but more importantly, the house is actually clean. There are also downsides. Everything involves driving. Back in the 50's, when everything was sort of backwards and cigarette companies claimed to cure sore throats, city planners probably thought walking was unhealthy. So they spread out every business and restaurant. I'd say walking is pretty much extinct back in Farmington Hills.

That's why I like East Lansing. I walk to class, to the store, to my friends' house, and to the bars. Plus, I'm saving major money because I don't have to buy gas for the whip. It may take some time at first, but I think no matter where I live, I can call it home. It has taken me three years to reach this conclusion because last year or even the year before, I thought East Lansing was a hole of franchised stores and restaurants. It is, but I'm stuck living here until I finish college, so why not make the best of it? In my Civil War history class, I'm reading a book called The Killer Angels. In one of the chapters, Tom Chamberlain, a union lieutenant talks about his home in Maine which I think sums up everything I feel about home.

Home. One place is just like another, really. I was born up there but I'm no stranger here. I was at home in England. I would be at home in the desert. All mine, it all belongs to me. My world.