So, over the summer I had the amazing opportunity to live and travel around in Europe while studying abroad in Salamanca, Spain. Often in the evenings, I would find myself drinking red wine at one of the many sidewalk cafés that populate the narrow streets, reflecting on the fact most of the bars and shops that surrounded me are older than my country.

I can remember one night vividly, when one of my American friends who for the most part skipped those twilight outings, decided to tag along with a third friend and me. Before the wine hit us full force and we began to move onto heavier spirits, we spent some time musing over our lives back stateside.

Both of them hail from New York City—a place notorious for its proud residents who find it incomparable to anywhere else—and naturally our conversation turned to what we missed most about home. Our general longings—refrigerated milk, olive oil free food, air conditioning, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups—were of course the same, but I found that being born and raised in Rochester left me with little to compete with some of their more metropolitan desires. But eventually we regained common ground when our discussion of home led us to Buffalo.

When I first came to the University at Buffalo freshman year, I was convinced that Buffalo had to be Hell on Earth. The school was big, I was anonymous, and the city seemed dead. It took the entire year, working here at Generation, and some extensive exploring of downtown to convince me otherwise.

With each new activity I tried and colorful neighborhood bar I found (Allen Street Hardware is the best, by the way) my hate for the city burned a little less brightly, until by the time I was getting ready to return for my sophomore year, I was a bit shocked to find that I was actually excited by the prospect.

Every time I return to my parents’ house in Rochester and sleep in my childhood bed, it feels a little less like home to me, and more like a memory of what used to be. I’m at that point in my life where I really don’t have a home, I only stay in one place for a short period of a few months, and I can’t really tell you where I’ll be in five years; but for now, Buffalo is my home.

There’s a grudging respect for this city that I don’t think can be truly felt unless you spend an extended time away from it. My affair with this town is truly a love-hate relationship, and as I begin this, my final year here on the academic spine, I feel a tinge of sadness at the thought of leaving the Queen City.

For all its imperfections, long cold winters, and high unemployment rate, Buffalo still has soul. Saul Bellow once wrote that “a man is only as good as what he loves,” so I guess that makes me pretty imperfect, but at least I’ve got heart.

Me cago en tu puta madre,

Chris

Editor in Chief

P.S. — If you’re looking for something to do to make Buffalo feel more like home for you, come out to our informational meeting on Wednesday, September 7 at 5 p.m. in our office, 315 Student Union. We’re looking for writers, artists, and photographers to round out our staff this year. Bring a sample of your work, and if we like you, you may be eligible to receive three credits for your work.