“What if we don’t really know where home is? Or what if—what if we don’t have one?” I’d asked. A few people laughed, as if I was being funny or difficult on purpose. The teacher just stared at me for a beat. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Everyone has a home.” I’d tried to explain what I meant, but by then, the teacher had lost his patience. He said I was lazy, that I was trying to get out of a straightforward assignment by making up nonexistent problems. He didn’t understand; none of the other people in my class seemed to either. They hadn’t spent half their childhood attending family
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