A few weeks ago, during a long drive back to school after a weekend in New York City, my friend who had been nominated DJ for the three-hour venture decided to play a classic that we had not heard in awhile: “Back Home Baller,” the parody tune performed by Saturday Night Live, honoring/mocking college students when they come home for break.

Initially, I laughed because Kate McKinnon and the verse on bowls. By the end, I was only half laughing and also half realizing that this sounded eerily similar to mine and my siblings’ re-entry into the household after our semesters at college.

During Thanksgiving break of my freshman year, I returned home high on life, which was newly filled with independence and lacrosse parties, efforts to avoid 8 am classes, and a general lack of rules and parental figures. I was in the middle of imparting my self-proclaimed wisdom on my younger sister- only actually two years my junior- about how in college, you obviously go to bed way later than you would in high school. Like, midnight is basically the new 9 pm.

“It’s just different in college,” I finished, reveling in my newfound status as a college kid and enjoying the look of awe in my sister’s face.

A few days later, I was in the middle of heading out to meet my friends for dinner when my mom stopped me and asked what time I would be home because it would really be ideal if it was by 10 pm the latest. I paused, in legitimate shock that after three months of essential freedom, I was being mildly interrogated about my late-night whereabouts and even given a (fairly flexible) curfew.

It took quite a bit of time, but I now recognize the importance of striking a balance between my slightly different personas. I am restricted by little but my own inhibitions at college, but at home, I am a respectful person not living in a dorm room, able to do whatever and whenever I please, but rather a daughter and a sibling under the roof of my family’s home and abiding by my new circumstances.

As I hold on to the moments comprising my final year of college, I look back on the behavior I enacted, perhaps more suitable for a celebrity, and hope to be less of a diva-like presence in my home in my current visit.

I now aim to be a back home baller without acting like I’m “’bout to run this bitch.” I might even do the dishes a few times.