“There’s something about sleeping in your own bed of years ago, in seeing your mom in the kitchen, in smelling zaatar2 in the streets; something to hearing the squeaky horn of the kaak3 seller’s motorcycle, to seeing familiar streets and faces, and hearing the familiar language and noises that just set your heart beating faster, get your breath coming quicker, get your smile to flash in a second and your stress to melt away into the heat… Take me home.”