Going to school far from home has certainly been an experience. Up in Baltimore I’m more or less on my own- I have friends- but the family is split in Pennsylvania and Georgia. The majority of Loyola’s New York and New Jersey student body are more or less in their element, they have easy access to home while I’m one of the only ‘Johnny Rebs’ on campus. It was certainly a change freshmen year, but truth be told, it was a smooth adjustment. I love Baltimore, but this doesn’t change the fact that sometimes I miss the old homestead, the family, and friends, and sights, and just feel that define what I would call my homeland. This year I left home in early September and didn’t return once until Christmas break. The atmosphere up north is great, I have met new people, encountered new ideas, slowly but surely I am carving my own place in the world. I’ve also learned that spending long lengths of time away from the familiar, kindles a new found respect and reverence for that which the individual returns too.
It’s funny. I can remember when I was kid wanting to get away from Ellenwood (the suburban area I live in just south of the city), leave it in the dust as they say. Now, for most of the year I am- and it is now I recognize how my original surroundings were crucial to my initial development. I feel like these past three years more than ever I have recognized my roots in this particular state, this was where by an odd stroke of fate my mother and grandmother ended up living. This is the only state where my Father’s line came to America- making me the first Campos born on American soil. It is a state filled with history and natural beauty, the Georgian wilderness tempting my imagination since I can remember. The culture and genuine warmth the people display here are also what have shaped my own sense of courtesy and respect towards other people.
Being from Atlanta has actually become a part of my identity. In a school where the majority responses to “where are you from?” are either Long Island, or Jersey, perhaps the occasional Connecticut or Maryland (yes, not that many Marylanders, but they have a presence)- I’m one of the few that replies with a southern state. Exotic, as this one random upperclassman commented my freshmen year. Yes, I could tell many a story of how… shocked or disappointed (not quite sure) people were/are that I do not possess a very strong southern accent- if any at all. It makes me unique- or rather adds to my unique presence. Remember to always embrace where you come from, because in some way it helps mold who you are, what you become. Though you as the individual form your being, I feel that this is influenced by the acceptance and/or rejection of your environment and people in your life.
I’ve certainly had adventures this trip, from my Uncle’s backyard, to the mountains of northern Georgia, to historic Oakland Cemetery. I explored new sites, and experienced shenanigans that shall be remembered always, conjuring laughs and sighs for years to come. It’s the smallest things about home, about those you become closest with, that you really pick up on with time and in reexamination. It’s the funny quirks of individual family members that make you laugh, the general oddness of people that’s really funny- God knows I have had many of those experiences this trip and it’s those moments that really chisel a smile on your face, into your memory, forever. It’s those moments that return people to home, just as much as images of the physical locations.
There is a fundamental need for Human Beings to have a home, a homeland. The home goes beyond any physical location. People live all over the world, an individual can own several houses, but does that make each of them a home? Or is there a presence of home in each of these houses? The truth is, I believe, that a home more than anything is a house of memories, good, bad, but over all impacting, shaping a person’s life. The home is family. The home is memory.
It is because of this that I imagine it’s so hard to create a new home when setting out into the world. Though in a way you never leave, because of the memory, the memories survive, and you take those with you. It’s based on those memories that you create new ones, new homes, those are the bricks that truly shape how one lives. Memories can fade of course, whether by sickness or just passing time. In that case one has to look to who they are as an individual, and acknowledge that it was in no small part because of their roots, their home, both the people and the location.
To find one’s home is to know a part of oneself, in a great sense this is every person’s origin. Of course the higher home for us all is God, in his infinite forms, The Creator. In knowing both of these origins we can learn to better understand the individual person, and the human race, and the divine. To truly find one’s home is to be able to grasp a kind of safety and contentment in yourself as well as the outside world- and of course those who make them all worthwhile.
Like the Red Road, the home is defined uniquely, we shape it ourselves. Therefore, a home just as with people, is to each its own. In this my dear friends and readers, I invite you to meditate on your own sense of home. Look for the small things, take a walk outside, and if you reach some powerful thought or just want to share your own ideas of home, please do. Remember, the Shield Hall is open.
Shifting gears, I would like to take the time to share my love and appreciation to all my family and friends for making this a great return home. You make it so, all of you.
