This will be a very honest post, and may offend some people.  It’s what I thought about posting today, and I became a little less clear about it just now based on a link I found on Facebook that a relative of mine posted.  But I’m still going to write about it anyway.

I’m not really sure exactly how this blog post will end up, but honestly I had trouble thinking of something to write about. So at least I now have somewhere to start.

When you move out of your parents’ house for the first time, you start to acknowledge a new feeling that you’ve never had up until that point. Going home is never the same again. It’s still “going home”, but it’s not really home anymore, otherwise you would still be living there. I’m not really sure how everyone defines home, honestly.