can never go home.

I know people say you can never go home, like once you leave, you are too old and different to fit into the cubby named "Leena, age 9" or "Leena, loves drawing" or anything really. Are the toys I left behind no longer a part of me, now that I do not play with them? Are the people no longer mine, now that I have other people in my sphere? Sometimes, yes, I feel so different from them. Like they can no longer understand me. Even my sister, who is but two years my elder, feels a little different. We have not lived in the same house for six years. That is a long time, especially during a time when we are maturing and growing and finally shedding the awkward skin of childhood. So sometimes, we all drift away in a lazy haze, softly like a feathered kiss, without even knowing why.

But the truth is, there is something inherently beautiful about family and home. The peace I felt when I returned was something lovely and sweet and languid, spreading like the warmth of a fire after being lost in a winter forest for days. It is home. It is the streets I know like the back of my hand. It is the lone dinosaur toy I played with when I was young, sitting on the shelf like it is treasured. It is the perfect silence. It is the song I want to play again and again. It is like an anthem in my mind, "You are home." It is where I know I am loved. It is beautiful.

It also made me think of this song, Open Up by Editors, which is lovely in and of itself, but also pretty much expresses everything I felt. At around time 2:30 in the song, the repeated "You are Home" is  pretty much the anthem I feel once I land in Chicago. What a beautiful place.