Sometimes I wish going home was as easy as clicking my ruby red heels (I actually used to own heels like Dorothy did) saying, “There’s no place like home” and magically I would appear in Seattle. That would be much easier than a 24-hour day of travel, but it was definitely worth the long trek back to the states. I was lucky enough to get seven weeks of my summer break back home. I got some much needed time with my friends and family, plus of course my sweet little Howie. Being home after spending moving away is like a vacation of its own. My mom makes my dinners and does my laundry, who wouldn’t love that?
Seattle will always have a part of my heart. There is a lot to love about Seattle. Don’t even get me started on how much better Seattle’s coffee is then Australian coffee! I love having a Starbucks on every corner. I love Pike Place market; getting fresh flowers, watching the guys throw fish, eating Russian bread. I love riding the ferries across the sound. I love going to Bob’s Corn and going through the corn maze. I love the beautiful mountains that are practically in my backyard. I love when it snows. I have many things to adore about my hometown, but Seattle isn’t my home.
Let me explain before my parents have a heart attack. Seattle is a wonderful place and I’m grateful that I got to grow up there, but it’s not what I consider home. Because that’s all Seattle is, it’s just a place. I’ve fall in love with lots of places; San Francisco, Chicago, Florence, Victoria, Melbourne. That’s just to name a few. All those places, like Seattle, have great things to offer that make them special in their own way. What I love the most about going to Seattle is the people. Home isn’t a place; home is a person. Visiting Seattle isn’t about all the coffee (although I do love my coffee), for me I would rather be around my family and friends then see the sights. One of my favorite things that I did over the summer was sitting in my pajamas all day with my best friends doing absolutely nothing. I would rather do nothing with the people I love, then see the world all alone.
Home isn’t a place; home is a person
I feel at home in places that I would never consider home because of the people who live there. Those people who make me feel at home no matter where we are, those are the irreplaceable ones. I have the best memories of the places I’ve been to because of who I was with, not because of where I was. I have even felt at home in Syracuse, New York (sorry Kylie but Syracuse is real dodgy) because I had my best friend there. My heart, my homes are all over the world now. They live in Seattle, New York, Arizona, Germany and Australia. A place isn’t a home without the people who live in it.