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See (/sē/) – to perceive with the eyes; discern visually

My favorite part of the nighttime trip home to Norfolk, Virginia is when the plane is low enough to see the land below. When I see the inky black waters of the Chesapeake Bay lapping at the sandy shoreline, I know I’m almost home. Past the beach, the city lights come into view. From way above, they look like a million little fireflies littering the air. The twinkling lights of the city have always been my favorite part of being home. As a teenager, my friends and I would sit on the edge of a downtown parking garage’s roof at night looking out over the headlights of the tiny cars zipping past, the streetlamps lining streets crowded with restaurants, shops, apartments, and more, the shimmering light reflecting off the water that surrounds the city. All of these manmade lights pollute the night sky, blocking our view of the stars we know are above. But to me, these have always been the only stars I need. The height of looking over city lights brings a comforting perspective. One’s problems never feel so heavy as when you’re on the ground, in the thick of it. As I walk down Granby Street of downtown, my eyes catch uneven sidewalks waiting to trip someone up, scorched grass in the summer, dead trees in the winter, giant art murals year-round. Being on the ground entrenches you in life, entrenches me in the memories of the past 22 years, good, bad, and everything in between. But almost all of them rooted in this city.

Feel (/fēl/) – 1. to be aware of a person or object through touching or being touched 2. to experience an emotion or sensation

You can’t escape the humidity in Norfolk. It’s a city almost surrounded by water. In the heat of summer, your skin precipitates salty sweat even with cool water droplets clinging to your skin as you warm up beneath the blanket of hot beach air. In the spring, the city is plagued by frequent downpours. I can remember running around downtown, ducking beneath store awnings for a quick reprieve, wet hands clinging to each other as we laugh through the rain soaking us to the bone. The rain washes away the past for a moment if you let it. If you let the rain soak you to the core while feeling the sheets of water pouring down your face and your back, if you focus on that sensation for even the briefest of moments, you feel alive, reborn, and free. Freedom. It’s a sensation that’s taken awhile for me to feel. As much as I love my hometown, I grew up feeling trapped, wondering if there was something better out there. I assumed that I could have a happier life just by leaving, but it’s hard to truly grow up when you cut off your own roots. There’s a lot of memories being home, some of which pull me back into that moment so viscerally that the lines of past and present begin to blur. But like the city, all those memories are a part of me. They make me who I am for better or worse.

Hear (/hir/) – to perceive with the ear the sound made by someone or something

I’ve lived in the same neighborhood in Norfolk since I was seven years old. It’s been so long that many of the sounds I hear everyday fade into the background of life. Being near busy streets, I can always hear the sounds of cars driving by if I decide to listen. Sirens of police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances frequently add to the noise pollution of the cars already on the street. We’re close enough to the railroad that the whistles of trains passing in the night lull me to sleep rather than jerk me awake. The only sound that never seems to fade into the background no matter how long I’ve lived here is the gunshots that shock the night air. Whenever we hear a loud noise, there’s a 33% possibility it’s a gunshot, a 33% possibility it’s a car backfiring, and a 33% possibility it’s someone illegally setting off fireworks or firecrackers.

My favorite noise that I associate with home, however, is the thundering applause of an audience in a theater. I grew up onstage. I started ballet at the age of three, and as soon as I was allowed to be in real ballets by the time I was six, I knew it was all I ever wanted to do. I loved hearing the building cacophony of chatter in the audience from backstage in my dressing room. The energy amped us all up, giving us all the adrenaline rush needed to create magic. And once magic was created, the greatest feeling is being center stage, bathed in a warm spotlight, absorbing the cheers of the audience in their seats at your feet. The validation of a theater audience, especially if you’re already proud of the performance you gave, is truly the strongest drug out there.

Smell (/smel/) – to perceive or detect the odor or scent of something

The smell of salty, humid air is probably somewhat revolting to some people, but to me it’s a smell I only associate with home. Growing up near the water, we went to the beach as much as possible. You can smell the saltwater in the air before your eyes even set themselves on the glistening water. I think because of this, being water side has always been one of my happy places. And there’s no lack of places to get that fix. There’s even a district downtown called Waterside where you can eat, drink, and socialize all while looking out at the water and the boats docked along the shore. My favorite downtown spot is the docks by the Japanese pagoda garden. They’re usually less populated despite being alongside tall brick apartment buildings. There’s even a spot where you can go beneath the deck to a little makeshift hideout. It’s certainly not safe, but it’s a quiet place you can go that’s almost beneath the city where the waves lick your dangling feet and a slight salted air wafts by your nose.

My other favorite place that’s frequently permeated by sticky, salty, and humid air is the ballet studio. The humidity gets so strong after just a half hour of class or rehearsal even in the dead of winter. And while it isn’t a pleasant smell, it’s unique to this one place, to a ballet studio. The studio used to be like a church for me, a safe haven on the best of days and a reflection of all my deepest flaws on the worst of days. It’s one of my favorite places not because I only associate happy memories with it but because I grew up in ballet studios. Almost more so than the city itself, it’s home.

Taste (/tāst/) – to perceive or experience the flavor of

The other night I found myself standing in a crowd at a St. Patrick’s Day block party along one of the city’s main drags sipping a cold cider that froze my hands but graced my taste buds with equal parts sweet and tangy from the fermented apple-based drink. I was surrounded by people, some I recognized while others were strangers to me, and joined by two of my close friends who I practically grew up with, one of which is days away from moving to New York City and the other is knee deep in medical school. Much of our conversation was centered around plans to leave Norfolk, plans to create an ideal future. And as I’m on the edge of a major life change, one that will eventually include the decision of where to move, I’m reminded of my fierce desire for independence and escape when I was a teenager. If I wanted to, I have the ability to leave, to find a place to start over, to create the life of my dreams. But the closer I am to making a decision, the less I want to view any type of relocation an “escape.” Norfolk, Virginia will always be home. I decided that long before I got our mermaid “mascot” tattooed beneath my heart. And while this place is my home, it has been, is, and will be home to millions of other people beyond me. People like my mom have seen the city build itself up, tear itself down, and rebuild itself all in one lifetime. But through it all, the city has held a charm that’s captivated people for years. We’re a home for many whether that’s a few years or generations, and I know that even throughout its ebbs and flows, long after I’m gone my home will persist and unveil its beauty to hopefully another struggling teenager, eventually giving her the place to feel like she belongs, no matter how long it takes.