This place was the magical land of Rancho Palos Verdes near Torrence in Southern California.
Kinda far away from the land of my culture, South Korea, but after living for about 7 years, I ended up there. I would spend four years of my life there, the longest I had ever settled down to live in one place. My dad had a relatively stable job that allowed him to stay while he waited for his permanent residence application to pass through so he could improve his, my mother's, and my, career paths. I didn't realize how much staying in one place for so long could change the way I felt about a place, or how much it would affect the way I felt about the people there or the culture around me. Here are a couple things that changed.
1. I made friends and stayed with them long enough to like them, hate them, and then love them.
2. I got attached to my former place of residence.
3. I met someone I would have a relationship with for 7 years afterwards.
Because I got to feel those things, my definition of home changed in a very drastic way. I'll explain how they changed me.
1. Years after I moved away from sunny California to the land of rain, water-air and tree, NC, I realized how much I missed my friends. I missed them so much that I was depressed about being friendless in NC, that I wouldn't see my friends the next day. I missed my friends so much that I didn't make any friends for the first few months in NC. I didn't want to make any new friends. Depressed, lonely and destitute, I began my angsty middle school years missing home, which I mistakenly thought was California.
California wasn't my home, friends. California just happened to be the place where my close friends were.
2. I really missed the old place. Its compact walls, its white-walled apartment feeling, its flat roof, its stone staircase (not part of the apartment, just the access stairs). I missed it so much that I actually scootered my way to it when I visited my best friend, Nick, the last time I went to visit him and other friends. I scootered miles. MILES. ON A SCOOTER.
Trust me. You haven't lived until you've ridden a scooter going 25 mph on bricks with rounded edges that tried to bump you off and signs hip high that you had to duck under to avoid getting blown off of your scooter.
No helmets, no pads. I felt like such a badass.
Anyway, getting back to the main point! When I saw the apartment again, I couldn't believe it. It was so much smaller than I had thought it was when I was little. It started a chain in me from that point on to try to revisit every part of my past physically, from Santa Barbara to Long Island to all of the cities we lived in in Korea. Now that I have the ability to hold memories in my conscious, I will be able to revisit them for the rest of my life. I finished, for the most part, what I started, the revisiting of old places of my youth, and I now look onwards, having changed my final, now current, definition of home.
The journey to physical locations helped me in my realization about the true meaning of home. We're almost there, folks.
3. This girl was my first love. She helped shape me into the person I am today. This person also solidified the definition of what my home was. When we decided to split, the entirety of Rancho Palos Verdes, a place I drilled into my mind as home for 11 long years, looked completely foreign to me.
I was a complete stranger in my own "home".
That's when it hit me, as I walked down the sunset lit hill I remember, shining so beautifully. Home is not a physical place.
Home is where the people you love are. My home is in my beloved friends, in my family, in my current beau. Home can be experienced through the senses, but it resides where one cannot ever physically enter. It's in another person's love for you.
That's not to say a roof above your head is not necessary. It's just not everything a true home is.
To end, I want to leave you with another question. Who are the people in your life that are part of your home?
A side note: I recently got to listen to an author that was introduced to me in the 9th grade. Her name is Sandra Cisneros, and if you haven't read her books The House on Mango Street and Carmello (I'm reading this one, I take back some of my sass), I strongly suggest them to you. They are written in vignette style, which carries an elegance unknown to most, but quite fitting for the English language. It's like the analog, vignette is to English as condensed poetic form is to Chinese. Highly limited in length, a requirement for the most precise control of the language. Regardless, she talked (and talks) of homes, what they are to her, and how she dreams of them. For more insight, I highly encourage a glimpse into The House on Mango Street.
Another side note: Ayn Rand also mentions the necessity of a home for the self in her book, The Fountainhead. It's a bit daunting of a read, and she certainly does press her philosophy deep into your psyche; however, she makes claims about a home for the individual that I believe ring true to nearly every person. In a metaphoric perspective, she makes even more complex, interesting points about home, but you'll have to read for yourself to get what I mean.