I’m going back  home this summer.

Home is 7,193.4 miles, 15 hours and two airplane flights away.

Of my 23 years alive I’ve only been home for 3 years and 1 summer.

The rest of the years I’ve been in a foreign land, that is actually more familiar to me than what I consider home would be.

But it’s not mine. And I don’t want it to be mine. I use it and abuse it, but I’ll never love it.

And I’m not quite sure if I’ll love home either, or if I’m romanticizing what I hope it will feel like to finally go back to where I was born and get a taste of my culture again.

This experience could easily show me that I am, in fact, a foreigner in that land and where I belong is right where I am.

Whatever it shows me, I’m very excited to go study abroad in Armenia, and share those experiences here.

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