To me, New Orleans is home because it changes the meaning of what it is to feel at home.
Feeling at home means having a place
Whose culture is so infectious
That one is able to overlook its short-comings. In New Orleans,
It means looking over the recent football and government scandals, the crime and overall lawlessness
In favor of po-boys, snowballs, and new catchphrases like “free payton”.
Living in New Orleans stirs up such pride that I do not even mind when “foreigners” criticize the way
I talk, because they are incapable of understanding—it is not even their fault. That is what home is. A
place you are so in love with that even insults directed towards it are viewed as compliments. It entails
possessing a sort of blind pride.
Some question the value of living in a city that experiences a constant influx of tourists, with their
Hawaiian shirts and fanny packs, though more commonly, with a bottle of alcohol in one (or both)
hands.
But no matter how many tourists come, make a mess, and then leave, I know that New Orleans will
always be home.
And, anyway, locals cherish a different New Orleans than the one that tourists visit.
Victoria, age 17