I miss my home. The home where my Dad still lives. I miss the waves of deafening cicada drone that wash over the land. The bushland that is alive with bird conversation. The place where my footsteps crunch the dried bark and leaf matter that covers the ground floor. In my stillest moments I know that that’s where I belong. But now I’m in Chicago. I love it here too, but differently. The people, the creativity, the honest fight to be a good human. There’s nothing like a good fight to ask you to show your colors. I don’t know where I’m gonna be in 5 years, but I feel that lots of us feel that now days. Trying to be at peace with the uncertainty