Hi there! This is Maya, reporting from an on-campus apartment on my first virtual day as an
Asian American Center intern. For those of you who don’t know me, I am a junior who has worked at the
AAC since freshman year. When I visited the Asian American Center for the first time during a welcome
week event, I learned about NU Barkada, the Filipino cultural club that has shaped a lot of my time here
at Northeastern. This position has given me a way to become closer to the greater Asian community that
surrounds Barkada. Now that you have gotten to know a bit about me, welcome to my little slice of the
internet.
As you all can imagine, it will be a strange adjustment not working at the front desk greeting
new and familiar faces. I would often swell with pride after giving a new visitor a tour of the center.
Then, I would jump in excitement to see friends who wanted company, a person to talk to, or a piece of
my banana bread. This semester I will be working from the confinements of a new space, hopefully a
place to call home. As a highly introspective person, I have been thinking about the meaning of “home”
with my newfound free time.
Spending six months with my family in New York has made me aware of my behavior in a house
that was undoubtedly comfortable. I often caught myself making inaudible humming sounds along to
the songs my dad would play on the guitar (then he would precede to tease me about it). I spoke aloud
any thought I had as soon as they entered my brain, prompting my mom to feel suspicious of my
whereabouts when the house was too quiet. I left a trail of sketchbooks and crafting materials as I
hopped from room to room. This was the benchmark for the meaning of home. Whereas the past two
years of living in Boston with people who I was merely familiar with induced a different behavior: I was
afraid of taking up space. I kept my thoughts to myself. I calculated the volume of my footsteps. I left the
bathroom as quickly as I could. I disappeared before anyone was awake and came back when everyone
was sleeping. While I didn’t find home where I kept my bed and belongings, I found one in a large group
of people that shared a love of Filipino culture, and a handful of people who shared a sense of trust. I
have realized that home can look very different for different people at different points in life.
Nevertheless, it feels incredibly similar.
Today I am looking forward to finding a new home in Boston. While I do, I hold on to the
comfort of talking to someone in an unmonitored stream of consciousness. I remember what it is like to
relax in my own goofiness. When I see my new roommates sprawled on the living room couch or
relaying their thoughts over the dinner table, I am reminded that it’s okay to take up space.
