The night the Philadelphia Eagles won Super Bowl LIX, I drunkenly stormed to City Hall with a crew that, in my condition, felt like the size of the team’s entire roster. Fireworks erupted, music played, and somehow everyone in Gotham was best friends. When I made it back to the comfort of my friend’s apartment at the end of the night, I sobbed for over an hour. As I kept sappily repeating, “We won the Super Bowl,” I realized my happy tears were also tears of belonging. WE won the Super Bowl. I had forgotten about all the obstacles and tragedies I experienced in the past few years alone that made my life a constant struggle of determining where “home” is. Home was always right here. I’ve always belonged in Philadelphia, it just took fleeing to California. I’ve always belonged in Philadelphia, it just took missing the Eagles. I’ve always belonged in Philadelphia, it just took two people to die for me to figure it out.
While I was a child growing into an angsty teenager, I desired to live somewhere far far away from the unimportant suburb outside of Philly that I lived in for my entire life. I always craved the independence and freedom of starting somewhere new. When I reached my junior year of high school, I decided I wanted to go to college in California and fully move my life there after graduation. I wanted to study film, I loved the beach, and I craved to call another place home. But as my high school experience continued, I had less of a drive to find another home. My friendships grew inseparable, as I finally felt understood by a group of people. Genuinely understood. Even though I fantasized about it for most of my life, the idea of leaving suddenly became terrifying. I grew up thinking that I didn’t need anybody, and on top of that, nobody needed me. I guess it just took the right people paired with my own emotional growth to figure out that was not true. It was too late, though. I already committed to California State University, Long Beach by the beginning of senior year, and summer was rapidly approaching. I soaked up every possible memory of the people I loved that summer. And I was horrified that I actually started falling in love with a boy.
I met Eddie when we were in elementary school. We grew up together, never once considering that our future selves could be remotely attracted to each other. The universe is funny like that sometimes. But after we graduated, we gravitated even closer together. I feared my feelings for him because on top of my friends and family, I couldn’t let another person pull my heart away from my younger self’s ambitions and dreams of independence. And yet, both unfortunately and fortunately, I was truly in love for the first time in my life. I shocked myself with a decision I never thought I would make. Getting a boyfriend before college? That’s the one thing virtually everyone tells you not to do. Whoops.
The day before I left for California didn’t even feel real. It was finally hitting me that I was actually leaving, but I couldn’t accept it. I had Eddie over that night and clung to him for dear life because if he left, then it would all be finally happening. He stayed at my house till 2:30 am when I had to leave for my flight at 3:30 am. I cried in the airport before I left, and I cried in the car after I landed. And as soon as I found my new “home,” COVID-19 restrictions placed me in isolation.
I never felt more alone in my life, staring at four blank walls in a place where nothing and no one was familiar. I cursed out my younger self in that room. Why would I ever want this loneliness for myself? I also grappled with the guilt. How privileged was I that I could be in the dream world of LA County yet be so miserable? I immediately knew I didn’t belong there. I needed to get home, I just didn’t know how or when yet. Could I make it the year? Hell, could I make it a semester?
Eventually, I was freed from my downward spiral and made friends. I had to, or else the loneliness would eat me alive. I still felt numb and disconnected all the time even though I was spending almost every waking second with other people. I was known as the East Coast, Philly girl. My Californian compadres referred to me as an alpha personality, which was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. I was like a unique Pokémon to them. I wasn’t used to feeling so different, so special. This made my guilt grow. I knew that as much as I valued the new relationships blossoming, I could never call them or this place home. Philadelphia occupied the majority of my brain. I made my public speaking class listen to a ten minute speech about the Eagles and Super Bowl LII, I taught my friends Philly slang, and I mentioned my loved ones back on the East Coast at an insufferable frequency.
I was fortunate enough to return to my “unimportant suburb” for both Thanksgiving and winter break. My friends, my family, and Eddie all waited for me in my basement. I felt genuinely content for the first time in months, my anxieties rapidly lowering. Yet, a discovery loomed over this break. Something was wrong, and everyone knew but me. My dear brother casually mentioned my aunt’s diagnosis shortly before Thanksgiving. What about Aunt Tina? What diagnosis? What was I missing while I was 2,713 miles away? When I confronted my mom, I could see her grow smaller. She stated how much she didn’t want me to worry and how much she knew I was already struggling. But it was too late. Aunt Tina had cancer, and she was dying each and every day while I wasn’t there.
The short time between Thanksgiving and winter break felt like an eternity. My feelings of disconnection snowballed into an avalanche. Aunt Tina was so sick by the time I returned that everyone thought it was best if I just didn’t see her. She was no longer the woman I knew. I was numb, preparing for the inevitable. Towards the end of my break that felt more like a waiting room, Aunt Tina passed away. As much as the sadness weighed down on everyone, I could tell my mom felt a sense of relief somewhat. No more suffering, no more paranoia, and no more late nights in hospital rooms. I still felt empty, completely separate from the situation. As much as I was close to her, I couldn’t even pinpoint the last time I saw her before her death. It’s like to me, she didn’t die, she just vanished out of existence with nothing left behind besides a house full of belongings and a grieving family. I went through her things, making sure to take her Eagles t-shirt with me before I returned to California.
I took the steps to transfer to Temple as soon as my spring semester started, my essay practically begging the university to save me from the mental hell I was in while away from home. I got accepted, and I secured an off-campus apartment during spring break with two of my childhood friends. I made sure everything was in order, both in California and in Philadelphia. Relief cleansed my soul on my return home. Excitement overcame me as the idea of living with the people I love in a place that I learned to love became a reality.
Once I moved into my first apartment, I felt like I had everything figured out. I was thriving, my romantic relationship was thriving, and my friendships were thriving. I was secure in my routine. Eddie would come every Tuesday to hang out and make my roommates and I dinner. I was walking my foster dog, going to the gym, excelling in my academics, and cultivating my passion for the film industry. At the ripe age of 20, I felt like I had a clear path of where my life was going. I was naive to think the universe would let me off that easily.
After my first year at Temple, I entered the summer optimistically. I knew so many more invaluable memories were to come now that I was in a place where I knew I belonged. I was confident that I wouldn’t have to question that comfortability again. But then Eddie went to Italy. He’d been planning this trip for so long, going to visit one of his friends and learn more about making pasta. He was Italian to the core. I think part of him felt like he belonged there. He even told me how much he would love to take me there one day.
But he can’t.
Eddie passed away only a few days before he was supposed to fly back home. It’s crazy how fragile life is, how easily a simple accident can end everything. I was hit with the realization that my 20-year-old self didn’t have it all figured out. I was so scared that I cursed everything when I returned from California. Was I in the right place? Was returning home a mistake? It felt like I never stopped crying that entire summer. I actually saw my dad cry. The only other time he ever let his tears slip out in front of me was at his father’s funeral. He, just like everyone around me, begged the universe for any way to take my pain away. As much as I was devastated, I wasn’t alone.
Eddie’s friends, family, and I all set off lanterns at our old middle school for him. We set lanterns on fire accidentally, struggled with our lighters, and told little jokes along the way to cheer each other up. We weren’t perfect, but damn, those moments were perfect for me. We also had a celebration of life for him at a local park. We painted rocks, listened to his favorite songs, and spoke words of grief and love. Even though I was grieving hard, it finally felt like I was doing grief right. And as much as the past few years (and even the past few months) had made me question where I belonged, I finally knew that I belonged here. There was no mistake. Philadelphia is where my entire heart lies, and my friends and family are the arteries pumping me to life.
Throughout my junior and senior years, I’ve grown increasingly secure in my sense of belonging. The distance of California gave me more independence, but it also taught me to trust that gut feeling of contentment. Combined with the deaths I experienced, this time of my life taught me that I valued my loved ones too much to live far away from them. Even though multiple tragedies occurred throughout my college career, even more love has come into my life afterward. I will never regret a single second of these years because experiencing long distance, love, and loss taught me more about life than my little high school self applying to colleges could have ever imagined.
After all of these hardships, I’ve gained friends like the Eagles gained valuable players. I know I belong in the city of Philadelphia because I love the people of Philadelphia. I know I belong because it just feels right. This sense of belonging is what makes a place home. Philly has that deep sense of community I’ve always craved, and I know many other Philadelphians feel it too. And when I try to explain to my Californian compadres why I remain here, I just tell them it’s a Philly thing.
