Homecoming
“Home” is a special word. For me, it will always and forever conjure up images of my parents’ house in Wisconsin…the braided run and leather sofa in the living room, the lilac bush in the backyard. My bedroom that stands as a time capsule of my life, small relics from my travels being added to its shelves as I grow older. The warm yellow light of the kitchen and the 50s style kitchen table wedged in against the wall. But as I get older and find myself living in different places, my definition of “home” is also expanding. For the two years that I lived in Puerto Rico, I called the yellow house in Guayama “home.” For some reason, I thought that when I moved off of the island, it would stop being home. But I was wrong. This holiday season, I made a pit-stop (a 4 day pit-stop) in Puerto Rico before coming home to Wisconsin. And though I didn’t step foot into the yellow house while I was there, it was undeniable that just being on the ...