Homesick
A couple of weeks ago, I was craving fried chicken. My Spanish class was learning the words for different kinds of food, and while “pastel” and “papas fritas” sounded good, I felt a sudden, inexplicable temptation for “pollo.” Now, if I were back in Ohio, I knew the first thing I would do after school would be to head over to Vint’s, and order a chicken dinner with a slice of strawberry pie, please. As it was, I took the PATH train out of 9th Street in New York City, went home and had, I think, a burger.
Of course, I had been warned about homesickness before I left for college my freshman year, but I had mostly shrugged it off. I was thinking about missing my family, who I could still talk to over Skype often, or the luxury of space that comes with living in a house instead of a dorm-room. I didn’t realize that even my go-to snack items were going to be effected by my move.
My response has been to call up family members and friends for the recipes of my childhood; to send my dog treats via Amazon in the hope he’ll remember the person who taught him how to “sit.” I stare at my collection of books, many of which were transported from my library in Ohio, and their familiar pages smell and feel like home. But I know I will never truly have “home” back.
To me, “home” doesn’t mean “where your heart is.” After all, I love my new life and wouldn’t change it for the world. Instead, it refers to all of the things that are yours — to the things you are so familiar with, that are stamped on to you like a word that has been carried over from pressing too hard on another sheet of paper. When all I knew was Greenville, it was my only home — but now, I can feel homesick for Ohio and London and New York and New Jersey all at once.
So, what do I do about it? Besides making copious plans to travel, I suppose I have also come to accept the change the way a toddler eventually accepts that it cannot crawl every place anymore. Being homesick means you have had a range of experiences, it means that you’ve grown from the person you once were and the life you once had. And if that still sounds like a cop-out, perhaps it is of some comfort that when you meet new people and get the chance to introduce them to your favorite chicken restaurant or get to show them pictures of your dog — you are making those things part of the experience too. By sharing your life, you also make it so you have easier access to it, through their understanding.
Last, but not least, I try to keep in mind that the concept of “home” will continue to expand for me. And even though it is sad to move farther and farther away from my past comfort zone, the process also takes me closer to a new one.
