Missing home?

I miss my family and friends. Just one of those moments.

I would like my room and my bed that I've was sleeping in since we moved into the house. My pillows, my quilt, and my Booba. Or the bear one of my friends gave me that I slept with when I was in the dorm and my Booba was at home.
I want to sleep against the blue corduroy backrest pillow that Elissa swiped repeatedly.
I would like to go to sleep with my sister in the other bed in my room and talk as we both fall asleep and then remember to tell her that I love her and give her a kiss before we both pass out. Or go to sleep in her bed because mine is covered with stuff (read: clothes).
Not be able to fall asleep or want to read before I sleep so I pick up one of the books along the wall or next to my bed and know that I will always have something to read because the wall is lined with books.
To walk in to my room and see the collages on my walls, the pictures, the posters, the lyrics.
Looking into my mirror and seeing the photos stuck in the edges where the mirror and the wood framing meet and looking down at my dresser, full of photo frames and tchachkes that mean something.
My stereo. With a record player. It took me 3 years to find it.
Being able to call my parents and sisters and many friends without even thinking about it. And walking home phone calls with Sara...I miss those...

I'm home here, but I miss my home in NY.

I can't really figure out this "home" business...Israel is home in that it feels right here. I guess that's what home is, where it feels right. And it's ok for both Israel and NY to be home. But it feels weird to call NY home because it feels not right there, but it feels right to be in the house I grew up in, with everything familiar.