I was born here.

With a new school comes a new e-mail address, school system passwords, ID numbers, all things I worry I’ll forget and be forever locked out of academic cyberspace, unable to read or answer important e-mails from professors, peers, students. It’s an irrational fear, I know, but I let myself off the hook a little by remembering I was moving thousands of miles away from home. From humble Utah County to big Boston city. Utah lake to the blue Atlantic.

To “remember my roots” I decided to incorporate the name of my hometown into my university password. After the system rejected it for the eighth time, I assumed I’d mucked up the process and called IT for assistance.

“What’s the password you’re trying for?” he asked in his thick New England accent.
“226Orem. One word,” I said.
“Say again?”
"226Orem. O-R-E-M.”
“Orem? What’s an Orem?”
“It’s not a thing, it’s a place—where I’m from, actually—”
“Yeah, it’s not a word,” he stated, the accent thick with authority.
“Right, it’s a place,” I offered.
“It’s not a word in the system, so it doesn’t matter. Pick a different word.”
“Right. Thanks.”

In the Boston landscape, Orem didn’t register. And it still doesn’t now that I’m here. But that’s okay. I picked a different but equally satisfying password.