I was born in Yuma, Arizona. I moved to San Diego county in California when I was six months old, and California was my home for the next sixteen years. I don’t consider Arizona my home, let alone Yuma as my hometown. Since I only remember growing up in San Diego county (I briefly lived in Oxnard when I was two), it’s my home. It’s where I experienced many life moments, it’s where my heart lies, and my soul is planted in several parts of the city.
When my family moved to New Hampshire when I was seventeen, I never thought I would feel at home there. It took over two years, but I came to love the harsh winters and the beautiful autumns. New Hampshire is where my love for Halloween was reawakened, where I finally went on a date and was kissed by a guy I was interested in, and it was this land of history; which is a huge thing for me. And then we moved back to the West Coast when I was twenty-five.
And as much as I love my home state, I miss New England something fierce. I miss the humid summers (God knows why, because they’re f***ing terrible), the fallen leaves that crunch beneath your stylish boots, the nip in the air in the fall, the changing leaves, and snow at Christmas. I watch the Sex and the City movie, and I just want to be on the East Coast, wearing boots and a 3/4 length coat in the snow with a knit cap on my head. My family doesn’t understand the pull for me to the East Coast, and it’s just something I cannot explain.
Maybe I am just done with the wildfire threats, earthquakes, and all the bullshit California is doing right now.