A long way from home

I started blogging the summer before my senior year in college. I can admit it, at first I only blogged about my people watching experiences in one of the cafeterias. People fascinated me in a different way then. There were always my "friends" and then there was the unexplored population of people I encountered, watched, listened, and eventually sewed into stories.

Friends are what made my college days the wild, havoc filled days they were. Oh, and vats of caffeine and alcohol. Okay, maybe the occasional pizza fest. There was never a time my freezer did not hold pizza. It was college, that was life. During my second year I lived in a 2 bedroom apartment with two other roommates. One had furnished most of the place with artist decor including infamous Andy Warhol pop. The other was my roomie, aka we suffered late nights inside the same room for a good 2.5 years.

And we built a home. I had an inkling for cooking then and collected my first kitchenware including a black set of measuring cups, bright green emerald mixing bowls, and an assortment of plates and bowls. Yet, college only lasts four years. At the end I passed on my first kitchen to another friend, one who I always believed was amazing. If anything, he's one of my heroes! Even if, I was his editor for 2 years in our school literary magazine.

Seven years later, I find myself away from home in my hero's kitchen. An assortment of pots and pans lay around. Cutting boards through the roof. Some darning little black measuring cups and bright green emerald mixing bowls. Though I hadn't seen my hero, my friend, in the last seven years. I hadn't realized how the friendship we had in college still lived. Quietly, preparing nurturing meals for himself, his loved ones.

For me this time around. I may be a little bit far from home, but I've found myself in my first kitchen. Home is where the memories lie.


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