I’m packing. I’m leaving in just two days. I’m going home, for a while, in a way, but in a way I’m not.

My two beautiful sisters are graduating from law school, one in California, one in New York. Two of my best girl friends at BU are receiving their undergraduate diplomas on Nickerson Field. In California, the April rains have turned the hillsides a beautiful green, which will hardly last into May before the sun comes out and toasts everything to that glowing California gold. Spring has sprung in Boston, which is green along the river and in the Arboretum. The flowering trees are bursting their buds open and little dormant bulbs that spent all winter sleeping are sending forth green shoots. Ducks are swimming in the pond in Jamaica Plains, where spring heating is causing the cold water at the bottom of the pond to turn over and bring nutrients to the sunny edges where plants grow.

In Alaska, my dad is hauling salmon, hoping no nets come up full of jellyfish. In L.A., Caitlin P. and Kristen are finishing up finals and attending end-of-the-year sorority parties and enjoying the glow of their last carbon-colored sunsets as the glow dies on the bleach blondes on Greek lawns. In San Luis Obispo, Maggie is rolling her eyes and making merciless fun of someone as she packs up her Jeep, and my brother is deciding on an additional major that will keep him in school until I finish grad school. Shannon and Bobby are spending the weekend on Iris Lane chasing the puppy around and Eric is playing a show somewhere in Berkeley. In Cambridge, Kirsten is rocking out to John Mayer while she jumps on her suitcases until they close and while she plans lunch dates with old high school friends, and across the river Paul is worshipping Trent Reznor, exploring Boston in search of sights unseen and thinking about cinnamon rolls for dinner.

I’ve got a sunburn on my chest and shoulders from running in Quito’s blazing sun the past few days. I’ve learned 15 cute names to call cute girls on the street. I’ve learned how to make plantains, three different kinds of tuna casserole, llapingachos, refried beans, strange soups and salads and sautés. I’ve learned what it’s like to be a big sister, and what it’s like to be an eldest daughter. I’ve learned the kingdoms, phyla and classes of creatures of the sea, coast and land. I’ve found my way through the separation, subduction and eruption of the great Amazon and the appearance, vicariance and speciation of Amazonian creatures and learned how to explain their amazing diversity. I’ve seen so much beauty this semester. I’ve had my heart broken by the achingly vulnerable splendor of the natural world around me, the exotic strangers of this country, and by the predictable but unfortunate actions of friends back home.

The other day my friend asked me if I’d changed, like everyone else who goes abroad. I don’t think so, aside from the breast implants, A.A.N. (Aquired Adult-onset Narcolepsy), and becoming more fond than ever of romanticism and sappy clichés. How will I be able to tell if I really changed? What if everyone else changed and I’m the same as I ever was? And honestly, does it matter? I’ve never really worried about that, the way people change when they’re apart for a while. Because when you love people, there’s something fundamental that you share, that you shouldn’t ignore or forget, something that ties you together no matter what different places you go or things you see or experience. That’s what Odysseus didn’t realize, that poor restless bastard, which is why he spent so long on desert islands, completely isolated even when he enjoyed the company of immortal nymphs. That’s what coming home is all about, even if your home is in Berkeley, in Walnut Creek, in L.A. and S.L.O., Boston and Cambridge, in Anchorage and Greenwich Village, in some Chevron housing development in Thailand, in a little white house near the airport in Quito, in a hostel in Cuenca, a hut in the Amazon, a bungalow north of Porto Lopez, and under the stars in green Vermont.

Between now and June 5 when I leave for Panama I won’t see many of my homes, but it’ll be nice to be a little closer to so many  for a time, before I set out and make a new one.