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Home use to be a place that once I entered through the door, all worries about school and people slipped off my body like raindrops on Gore-Tex.


Google Maps is quite the tool. Just last week I perused my childhood home noting it was bluer than it’d been.


Home takes time to build and rebuild, to find and to treasure, to believe and then to feel.


A few short weeks before my graduation in May 2016, the wind started blowing a little harder in a different direction, and twenty-foot flames started eating up my town. Trees burned, gas stations exploded, and 70,000 people clamoured to get away.

Fall in Nitobe garden. We need a break because the weather

It would be too easy to be uprooted by the mishaps of life if I wasn’t constantly surrounded by an inspiring environment or a place where I felt belonging.


Maybe home is not a rainbow, but a storm. Maybe home is accepting you forgot your rain jacket and letting the cold seep into your skin and awakening something, something, that lives within all of us.

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