Home is where the heart is, they say. What they don't tell you is that you always leave a part of yourself behind. Part of me is still in Stockton, vaguely confused, sensing the fear and tension the teachers were trying to hide, hoping the guy with the gun doesn't come my way. Part of me is still at one of my old schools (after Stockton). Hell, part of me is still in summer school, even, and though it was just last year, a lot of stuff was happening in my life at that point, so it has meaning for me. (I guess that's what they call "nostalgia", but it's true.)
But we're getting off topic. Generally, I consider my new location to be home when I grow attached enough to it that part of me will always be there. Part of me is still in my old neighborhood, my memories have faded, but they're still there. A while ago, my mom and I were driving by where my aunt used to work. I pointed out the green building, she pointed out the white one. I was only six at the time, but sure enough, I turned out to be right. Anyway, it's not home anymore--since a piece of my heart will always be in my current location--but I still remember it. But a few years after I first moved away, Stockton still would have been home.
Hope that made some sense. It felt more like tidy rambling to me.
I will never run away 
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I've moved around a lot in my life as well, but each time I did manage to settle down and make the best out of my conditions. It's just that whenever I moved on, and then swung by my old residencies just to visit (I should note this is different from visiting family, as we separated paths on my way to college), it was not at all how I remembered it. Even interactions with the same people was different (usually on the drab side). So of course, my enthusiasm of travelling was dampened a little bit.
Originally Posted by Lord Krang
