Home

So I was reading this book about a girl, Yara, who moves to the US, because of the spread of communism in Cuba and Fidel Castro. (she's an exile)  In the middle of the book, the girl starts to become confused about where her home is. Is it in Cuba, or the US? She has made so many new friends, and she's gotten use to the ways in the US. But often in the book she starts talking about how she misses Cuba, and how everything makes her miss her old home. When it gets closer to the end,  she realizes that she might not be able to move back to Cuba for a long time because things aren't getting better. Then it ends. No answer to her problems, it just ends.
But my life doesn't have just a simple answer of ending. Let me make this clear, about the same time I started this blog- the end of last year's summer- I moved. I've made friends here, I've gotten use to everything here, and if I were to leave, even if it were to the place I left, I'd miss my friends so much. But then I often find myself snapping and thinking about how things use to be, and how much I wish that I could go back. Where I can quote Kid History, I shout black and white across the street, where I can reference to an inside joke, and have my friends next to me, doing the same. I miss my friends, and find myself wishing I could move back. But then I'm reminded that I'd miss my home here. Then I get confused, where is my home? Is here, is there?
Driving down to the Evaluation show for guard I found myself laughing with two of my friends on each side. We were talking about something random, maybe about the play dough we were playing with, or maybe it was about some stupid guard joke, I don't know. But when I was laughing my head off, my friend Georgia (that's her guard name, mine's DaVinchi) turns to me and says "Eva, I'm so glad you moved here, and that I met you." Suddenly, I realized that I was too. But at the same time, something was tugging at me, wishing that Lille Anka was here, making something out of the play dough, or talking about some stupid inside joke. I didn't know what to say, because once I started missing my friends, I could only think about how close we were driving down to them, and how instead of going down the exit that I'm so use to going down, we're going to keep driving. I managed to choke out some words, they weren't a lie, they were just hard to say.    "Me too."
Then we're going back to playing angry birds and play dough and stupid guard jokes. But something inside of me is torn when I see my exit, and we drive past it. Something that makes me want to cry and tell them every memory I have. I see all the old stores, I see the street leading up to my old school and Lille Anka's house. I think of how I get there, go to Rissa's, Nato's, Nichi's, and Chippy's. I let some things slip, as I point at the streets, try to explain where the best park in the whole world is. My friends listen, out of politeness, but they really don't care. But it's all pointless, because we keep on driving, past all my strong memories, past the areas that mean so much to me. We drive through the areas to where things are vague, where I can only point out a few streets to where I remember nothing. To where my memories are going to be made with my friends in guard.
I find myself confused, I'm being torn between my two worlds, where the two cross. Are both my homes- or can a person only have one home. I'm told my hometown is where I was born, but Portland doesn't strike me as my hometown. I wasn't raised there, but I'm told it's my home because I was born there. I can't say that where I was raised is my home either because my home is here as well. I want to settle down and say that my home varies into different places, but my heart is just confused by what my brain's telling me. When I try to talk to my mom, she just gets upset with me talking about me missing my frineds. I don't blame her though, I've complained for so long, trying to convince her to move back, she just rolls her eyes if I say anything about, my friends- or if I just simply state that I don't like something here. "It's healthy for you to move. I'm glad we moved." I know it's healthy, but it hurts, so bad. While most teens have best friends down a block, mine are miles away. I can't talk to my dad because all he'll do is try to convince me to live with him, so he can sue my mom for the rest of my siblings. Sure I'll get some comfort, but sometimes I can't tell if he's just going to twist my words for his attorney. The only comfort I can get is from my friends, here or there. Somehow, I can't tell them how split I feel. I feel as if I tell them, I'm telling them I sorta don't love them as much.
Why is this so confusing? Why can't I have the story book ending that every story has, where the girl realizes that loving both places is okay, and then things end right before she feels split again? If home is where the heart is, then my home is everywhere but one place.

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