If These Walls Could Talk
My college house is the epitome of charm. Nestled between a family home and a retired couple, it stands as a beacon of youthfulness with bright red Georgia flag flying out front and Rent The Runway or Nuuly packages living on our front porch. Together, my roommates and I have transformed this house into our home.
Prior to moving in, I never thought any place would feel as much like my home as my childhood house did. The way I knew whether it was my mom or my dad coming upstairs by the sound of their footsteps or how I could tell when someone was coming inside from walking the dog by the sound of the back door opening – these memories provided a sense of security I thought only possible in a place where I lived for 18 years.
While no place will ever be able to replace my childhood house, my college home has given me a sense of peace and comfort that is hard to describe. It's fascinating to me that a place I had never laid eyes on just six months ago now feels like a permanent part of my life. It has made me realize that maybe it's not the physical space itself that makes a place important, but the routines, memories, and people that fill it.
When I take a moment and reflect back on why my college house feels so much like home, I think about evenings spent on the couch binging TV or mornings sitting in the rocking chairs on our front porch drinking coffee. I smile thinking about the way I made one of my roommates go down to the basement with me to do laundry until I finally managed to get over my fear of the dark. I think about the laughter, gossip, and music that constantly fills our four walls. Or my high school friends coming and staying for the weekend and becoming friends with my college friends. It's taking funny photos of each other on the Ring camera and arguing over who gets the best parking spots in the front of the house.
These same feelings translated into my experience studying abroad. Last summer in Madrid, I lived with a host mom, Mama Maria, and three other girls I had never met. Even though I was 4,200 miles away from my house and surrounded by strangers, I still felt the security and comfort only associated with home. I didn’t feel this way because of how the apartment was decorated, rather it was because of Maria’s home-cooked meals and long dinners sharing stories or because of afternoons spent with my roommates reading on the terrace for hours or evenings where we would all pile in front of the only fan in the apartment trying to brave an air condition-less summer.
I always thought the saying “home is where the heart is” was cliche, but maybe it's only a cliche because it's true. Places feel like home because of the people and memories created there, not because of the walls and windows. I find this idea incredibly comforting –that we could be hundreds of miles away from our physical houses but if we are surrounded by the people we love, we can still feel like we are home.