home

There are many kinds of home, different places we belong, that belong to us. I lived in Oxford for only three months, but it is one of my homes. I belong there. Oxford belongs to who I was and am. It may seem overly romantic to refer to it in that way, but I think we all have those places—our home(s). They become a part of who we are in a way other geographical points do not and therefore deserve a little romance.
We visited Oxford on our trip, me playing tour guide for my family. Here’s where I walked in the dark to the river, linking arms with Carol because we could not see the hands in front of our faces. Here’s where I raced down the river, sprint-rowing to win. Here’s where I lived—now it’s combined with the flat next door. Here’s where I studied. Here’s the library—I vowed not to take food or flames in there.
Some things had changed. I got lost a couple of times walking down the once-familiar paths. But my favorite view of home remained unchanged.