I'm in Toronto (that's in Canada for all you who don't kno- no, the country up north...no, that's Mexico dumbass...yeah, maple syrup and moose, not tacos and tequila. moron.) attending the wedding of a dear friend, and as I crawled into bed tonight (the second in two days), I was struck once more by how fluid my definitions of the words "family" and "home" have become.
See, Roni tells me I am family. Her parents think I am family. I was invited to the wedding ceremony which was for family only. Last night I stayed at Roni's house, and tonight I am staying with her sister. And I feel like I am at home. Toronto is a big city. The population is smaller than Atlanta (though bigger than Salt Lake), but geographically, the city is big. Still, I don't feel stressed out the way I do when I go to other cities because I am "home".
I am home because I am with family.
Even Atlanta is the same way. When I visit my friends there, I do not feel that I have come home because I have returned to a place where I spent five years of my life. I feel like I have returned home because I am once more in the presence of people whom I hold dear.
Jason and May. Fletch. Jessie. Ray-ray and Jean.
These are people who could call me, and I would come running. They are also people whom I could call upon, and know that they would do whatever they could to help.
He Who Need Not Be Named. Drew.
My home is with these people and others, where ever they might be.
Roni.
My home, indeed, is where my heart is.
