When I first got on campus, nearly seven months ago now, the question everyone seemed to ask was, “Where is home?”

Of course what they really meant was, “Where did you live before you got here?,” and I would answer with a town no one had ever heard of in a state two thousand miles away. But sometimes, if I was feeling literal, I would answer, “Here is home now.” That was technically true, but not exactly accurate considering I still wasn’t sure where any of the buildings were and my key got stuck anytime I tried to open my door.

The freshman class has spent seven months on this campus now — two quarters and two seasons. I’ve made great friends, taken plenty of good walks, eaten countless meals (though how good they are is highly contested,) and now with the start of a third quarter and a new season, I think I understand what it means to feel like this is home.

Now, if home was just any place you’ve eaten dinner, I might as well say I live at Thai Fusion. But it’s more than Gwinn and the public showers and the extra large twin beds that make this place a home.

Rather, college is special because it’s the few years of your life where you live in a building with all of your closest friends down the hall. It’s the only place you’ll have a life-changing lesson and then bump into the professor that taught it getting coffee or walking across Martin Square. It’s not any of the study rooms or lounges, filled with their old couches and distinct smells, that make this place special. It’s not even the quiet third floor of the library on a sunny day or the friendly ducks at the canal. It’s the fact that we all share them.

I have lived a lot of places in my life, and I’ve found a lot of homes, but once I am gone it’s not truly the place that I miss. I don’t really miss the bright teal walls of my childhood bedroom; I miss playing games with my brothers before bedtime. I don’t miss the marble countertop at my high school best friend’s house; I miss eating dinner with her family that treated me like one of their own. I don’t miss the brown duvet cover on my parents bed; I miss talking with my mom about nothing much at all.

One day, I won’t miss the perpetual carpet stains in Ashton or the tater tots in Gwinn (well, I might actually miss those too); I’ll miss living with all these people I love.

So with all the flowers blooming again and new classes starting up, I implore you to think about how special this time and place is. In three months, I’ll no longer be a freshman. In three years, I’ll no longer be an undergrad. One day soon I’ll stand on the balcony of six east Ashton and look at the view for presumably the last time. My family dinners have been replaced by friend Gwinners and one day those will be replaced as well. I can already tell that I’ll miss this home as much as I miss the one in a town no one has heard of in a state two thousand miles away.

So while you’re here, and if you feel the same, remember to revel in these special years. Say “Hi” to your friends while they still live right down the hall. Chat with your professors while you still share the same sidewalks. Maybe even slow down and try to enjoy your walk up Ashton hill.

You won’t be here forever, but at least for this moment, you are home.