I love coming back home. Coming back home means an inevitable checkpoint where I can genuinely take a breather, and just stop to reflect on things. Coming back home means bookmarking a chapter in my journal of life, and comparing it with preceding others. Coming back home means food galore and shopping spree. Coming back home means seeing my family and hearing the exact same stories over and over again, though somehow they never get old. Coming back home means, well, a lot. Did I mention how much I love coming back home?
