This place is my home. These people are my home.

I have memories in the cracks of every sidewalk, good and bad. Everywhere I go, I’ll see the faces of people who have hurt me and people who have cherished me. I can run and run and run, but I’m never going to escape.

It’s obvious now that it was never a physical place I was running from. It’s something I will always carry with me, something that will haunt me whether I’m here or on a beach in California. Trauma isn’t something that I can elude, no matter how far I go.

Setting all my hopes and dreams on USC was just a way for me to avoid accepting that, the same way focusing on the student film competition let me hide how scared I was, how scared I am—of being stuck for the rest of my life.

I thought going to California would fix all my issues. I thought going to California would make me happy. I thought going to California would mean I was free.

Looking at this picture, though, I’m realizing that it was never New York City that was the problem. It was always my parents, who defined the word home for me. But I was wrong.

Home is where you find love, and I am loved by this city and the people in it more than anything. I don’t want to leave it behind.

I want to stop running. I want to find happiness with the people who have always been there for me and supported me, even when I wasn’t at my best.

I want to learn and I want to grow and I want to be a better person—a person who is worthy of these people and worthy of this city.

And maybe I’ll do that in California, maybe I’ll do that in New York City, maybe I’ll do that on Mars. It doesn’t matter where I am. It matters who I want to be, and what I intend to do about it.

Anam, Rosie, Emmitt—they were all right. They knew my heart better than I did.

“I fucked up,” I whisper to the picture of myself. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t know who I’m apologizing to. The people who care about me or myself. Maybe both.

The weight on my shoulder lifts in increments, until I’m able to sit up straight, my head held high. I’m going to become the person I’m meant to be. And I’m going to start by taking action, by repairing the things I’ve broken. There’s a path forward here, if I’m brave enough to take it.

The first thing I do is send a text to Emmitt. I’m sorry you lost. and I’m sorry about everything else too. if you need anything, I’m here.