Emily Reed

— I always thought home was this less-than-perfect, old farmhouse in Upstate New York. It was where I spent the majority of my childhood.

My mother met a British man on a game they play on their phones. My mom was certain he was the one for her. I graduated high school a year early and we packed everything up and came over here. It was a large change - I knew it would be. The culture is similar enough to back in the US. We speak the same language - although sometimes it seems like we do not. I have found some amazing friends, and they are always more than happy to help with any of my confusion.

— I still miss New York, though. Not New York itself - but the people. My family - my nephews, more specifically. It feels like I'm missing something, not being able to watch them grow and thrive. We call and talk at least once a week but its not always the same. The week before I was due to move to the UK, I took my eldest nephew, Lane, to the park. When we were getting ready to go he ran up to me with a rock he had picked up from the ground and with all the seriousness a three year old can muster told me, "Emmy, you gotta take this where you're going." I wasn't certain he knew how far away I would actually be - he knew I was leaving, but I didn't know if he knew how far I was going. But, when he handed me that rock I knew he understood a lot more than I thought.

"You gotta promise me - you'll take a picture of it when you get to your new home."

"Lane, it's just a rock," I told him.

"No. It's a gift. From me. So, you gotta take it."

When I left a week later he made sure I had the rock on me. I didn't really want to take a rock through the airport, but his face was enough to convince me that it would be worth it.

— I took pictures of the rock and I all the way through the journey, and I sent them to him. Every now and then he'll remember gifting me this random rock he found in the middle of a playground and he'll ask me how it's doing - like it's a living thing and not a rock. I tell him the rock is just fine - on my desk where it always is. Usually though, he forgets about the rock. He did it on a whim because everyone else had been getting me going away presents, and he just wanted to be like everyone else. I'll never forget it. That rock is a piece of home for me - when I'm an ocean away from the majority of my home. I figured out home isn't the place. It's the people. And I miss my home in New York - mostly a red-headed kid who's too smart for his own good - and all his cousins who I watch grow up over the phone. I love my life in England - wouldn't trade it for the world - but sometimes I miss being able to hug my little guys or being able to make them a meal just for them to tell me "it's icky", or driving them places and singing songs with them. I miss them everyday, but I'm slowly making a new home over here. My football team being an essential part of that. They were the first people I made a real connection with, and I look forward to seeing them every week and playing games with them - even if we lose a lot.

Home can be so many different things, but it's important to remember, you can always have more than one home. Home is a thing you create - a place you can feel truly safe and be yourself. For me - it's a small town in Upstate New York that houses most of my blood family and Great Yarmouth - the town that hosts some of the best friends I've ever made. And I'm glad to call both of these places home.