Returning somewhere is sometimes more difficult than setting off for a new place. It seems to confuse one’s own definition of home; home becomes spread across the world with different definitions of family, friends, food, and culture. One’s identity is no longer as simple as I am a New Yorker, or I study in Boston; it becomes I am from New York, I live in Boston, my permanent address is a house in Miami I’ve barely lived in, and Perú is a place that makes me feel at home, but the reason why is constantly becoming. I could not say why Perú makes me feel at home since I stand out as a foreigner to Peruvians and most foreigners think I’m a local: my dark skin and poor accent leave me in a no-man’s land between the two groups. I guess that is what is so refreshing about Perú, being free of a group. I am free to define myself, with no preexisting suppositions, by my actions and my intent. I am free to become what I want here. I expect to go back to Perú, to go back home, and define myself as good. I am only two weeks into my time here, but I have delivered donations to hospitals throughout the region, inventoried and packed supplies to support three free medical campaigns, and have helped the volunteers that I oversee to form real connections with this country. I’m glad to have come home.