» home is where i’m alone with you.
  • home is where i’m alone with you.

    Apr 01st • Posted in love, personal, travel

    I have a major test I should be studying for (and I’m trying! I’m rewriting my lecture notes onto a separate word document and it’s taken me the whole day to do it– I’m on my last two, so I’m trying) but I’m taking small-ish breaks in between to write this blog post. It’s strange being back in our home, as opposed to my home. Tobi’s birthday was a week or so ago, so we spent his entire birthday week visiting my childhood home in Hawaii, where my parents still live.

    To be honest, it was strange bringing a boyfriend home with me. Not only because I’ve never brought a boy “home” to meet the parents (though they met him when they came up to the Bay in January, so the awkwardness of having a stranger stay in their house was not a possiblity,) but also because I’m not sure if I even consider Hawaii my home. By all practical definitions, Hawaii should be my home– I’m a Hawaii resident, and my permanent address listed is the one in Hawaii. But I’ve moved around so many times in the past few years that the concept of a true home never really revolved around the physicality of it– but the company I surrounded myself with.

    Maybe that’s why coming home to Hawaii felt different this time around. Most times, I bum around by myself and relax. I spend a lot of my time at home by myself (because the majority of my social circle lives outside of Hawaii) and the social network I am forced to interact with at home consists of a handful of high school friends and my family. Not that I’m complaining– I really do relish my time by myself. It might be duller than my normal social outings in a big city, but I like having a moment to reflect on how I’ve changed as a person and who I am. (For instance: I’ve noticed that I’ve become a better person since moving to the Bay Area– but in exchange, I’ve lost my writing skills and now I’m a terrible writer.) But it was nice (yet strange) to have someone else along for the ride home this time around.

    Going home with Tobi was wonderful and relaxing, but sometimes stressful because I was so wrapped up in prior commitments that I was worried about letting him down because he wanted to squeeze in a lot during our visit. I was torn between the role of a good host and a resident tired of playing tourist. While the weather and burnout from the prior commitments put a damper on some of our planned activities, I was lucky enough to just share a piece of who I was with my boyfriend. Home felt better when I was exploring it with him. And maybe Hawaii will never feel like home to me, but at least I was sharing it with someone who was comfortable enough to feel like home.

    As a young twentysomething, home may be a concept that I just won’t grasp until I’m older. Or perhaps, home means something different to me than others. To my boyfriend, it means a physical place where you can lay down roots eventually and settle in. To my mom and dad, one home was where they grew up and another is where they raised their own family. Home is not a place to me, home is the people I spend my time with. Nothing feels like home unless you’re surrounded by the right people. San Francisco may not feel like my home, but the arms of the man that I love certainly do.

    As far as I’m concerned, home is wherever he’s next to me.