There is no place like home

It’s 11:30 in the morning and I just woke up. Slightly groggy, I begin to wonder where I am.

I turn my head to the right and see a large window instead of another bed. In front of me, a dresser has replaced the desk that I am so accustomed to. On my left is a hallway, and I can see a bathroom from my position.

None of this seems familiar, so I become nervous and sit up quickly. After rubbing my eyes several times, I examine more of my surroundings.

My bed is much larger than normal and the sheets are leopard-print, not green. The closet doors are open, and I notice that there is hardly anything inside. A duffel bag is lying on the floor, unzipped and with clothes strewn about it.

All of a sudden, my worry disappears and I start to relax. It may have taken a few minutes but it finally hit me: I’m home.
Approximately five and a half weeks have passed since I last stepped foot in my humble abode. College may have been fun and all, but I will be the first to admit that I was excited to go back to little old Irwin, Pa.

Despite having to ride in the back seat of the car when going anywhere with my parents and my fixed curfew of 2:30 a.m., I savored my weekend home: I didn’t have to share a small amount of space with anyone, my bedroom was clean and free of all messes and meals were cooked by my mother rather than some unknown chef in the cafeteria.

These past two days have made me realize that independence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. At times, I would much rather be taken care of than have to worry about providing for myself.
It is undeniable that Pennsylvania and Kansas are, in fact, entirely different.

Still, one thing remains true: We may not be able to click our heels together three times like Dorothy, but our ability to go home is just a phone call away.