Is This Home or Just My Parents' Place?

I'm back in Pittsburgh for a wedding.

My friend David had his first–and likely his last–wedding today. He met a bright, cheerful, attractive woman who is, basically, in those qualities, the exact opposite of him. I think of her as the violin music to his Frankenstein. They're really beautiful together. Their way of interacting is so knowing of one another, so subtle, and so intimate. It's delightful and entertaining to watch their banter.

I'm now arriving back at my parents place, somewhere around 2AM, after a long day and night out. I had my jacket, car keys, and phone taken by some drunk people at the wedding. I had to be driven around town to retrieve them since those drunk people, upon admitting they swiped my stuff to the brother of the groom, refused to return them to the venue. They didn't seem to understand without car keys, I couldn't drive to meet them somewhere to get my car keys. And I couldn't call a cab to get me because this is Pittsburgh and I don't have a phone because they took my phone.

I'm thankful for my friends who helped me out here, particularly Aaron, who drove me around and kept me from escalating the situation. And Danny and Mikey, who brought me back down over rounds of beer at Armand's. Friends also offered me couches to crash on in the city. I told them thanks, but I was going home.

But is my parent's place my home? I feel so foreign in Pittsburgh now. I'm just passing through. I don't call my apartment in NYC home either. I call it my apartment. After 4 years away from Pittsburgh, I don't feel that I belong here. I don't feel like I belong in New York either.