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I’ve been out most of the week. It’s not that I’ve been sick, skipping, or trying to avoid my miserably failed physics test. Since there are 250 more words to write, I guess I’ll explain what’s been going on.

On Saturday night, I boarded Delta flight 101 with destination to Buenos Aires, Argentina, which is where I’m from. The reason for travel, as the custom’s officer asked that night, was my grandmother. Her cancer metastasized. Life expectancy: one month. My parents and I wanted to be with her for a few days.

But that’s not really what I want to write about. It’s something else. It’s this feeling I get every time I go back to Buenos Aires. When I see the city streets, the taxis, the small cafes and bars, the wide avenues, the skyscrapers and especially when I hear my native tongue being spoken in that unique Argentine Porteño accent from Buenos Aires I feel this empowering feeling of being home. It feels like those five years I’ve lived in the United States had never existed.

But they did. And I can see those small changes every time I go. For example, a coffee shop may have closed, or a street may have been repaved. People change as well. My friends and family look a bit different; the years can be seen on their faces.

Fortunately things don’t change that much. On Wednesday, I met with five friends I’ve known since the first grade. Our relationships are intact. Same goes with the family.

So what is home? It depends. Buenos Aires and Johns Creek are homes away from home. They work inversely. Well, I better get ready for school tomorrow. There’s tons of work to make up.

Conrado Brenna