By Megan He


[dropcap]S[/dropcap]acred is my home,

in a beloved Midwestern town,

in a house tucked into the woods,

where the sunlight filters through the trees.


But I was unfulfilled,

craving a new beginning, without appreciating

what had shaped me all along.


How ironic—

my whole life in one place,

but only when opportunity fell at my feet

at seventeen, did I realize what exactly I was leaving behind.


Sacred is a small apartment

with a twelve hour time difference.

Guangzhou feels a lot like home;

my grandmother emerges from the kitchen

with plate after plate of steamed dumplings.


I had not walked the streets in almost a decade, yet


The people look like me,

they speak my mother tongue.

But it is still foreign.

I may have been gone for far too long.


I’m still looking for something intangible;

perhaps it’s familiarity

or comfort. All I know is

I’m chasing a new feeling of home,

and I don’t think that will ever



I can travel far and wide;

I can see beautiful things, but nothing will leave

that same indelible mark.

Maybe then will I truly understand what it means to be

at home.


Sacred is my home—

is it somewhere physical?

Or does it only exist

in my head?

Nevertheless, it is where I never feel lonely

even when I am alone.


Megan He is a first-year in Pauli Murray College. You can contact her at megan.he@yale.edu.