Post-Abroad Life: Homelessy Homesick

Re-published from my old travel blog

June 4, 2015

After being both physically and mentally removed from reality during my four dream-like months in Madrid, adjusting back to normal life has proved to be somewhat of a challenge. I was overjoyed to be back in the presence of my parents’ warm smiles and experience some of the comforts of home, like a queen-sized bed with irrational amounts of pillows on it, instant Keurig coffee, and mom’s cooking. But “home” for me is beginning to be more and more difficult to define.

I remember the days when I used to be able to answer the question, “where’re you from?” with a simple, one-word answer. Buffalo. But somehow the answer to that question has gotten tangled in a web of complicated explanations, and usually turns into too much talking and the asker wishing they had chosen a different question to engage the small talk. Between growing up in Buffalo, my parents’ recent move to North Carolina, living in Madrid this past semester, my part-time home at Ohio State, and my temporary move to Chicago this summer, people are usually confused when I try to keep it simple and only disclose one location, and overwhelmed when they inquire (“wait, so how did you end up in Chicago?”) and I’m forced to give them the whole story. It happened so quickly too, almost without warning, that defining “home” would become such a process.

Everything after the moment I got off the plane in America is a blur. The five days I spent in North Carolina with my parents flew by, filled with sunshine, shopping, food I had missed, and a jet-lag-induced sleep schedule. Before I even had time to fully unpack my suitcases from Spain I was re-packing them to head to Chicago. I picked up my life once again, crammed it in a few bags, and moved it to the next city.

The stress of “starting over” in a new place, with new people, and new responsibilities seems to have taken up permanent residency in my brain. Lately it feels like I’m always in-transit, with nothing to hold me down or keep me grounded. I’m always introducing myself, trying make good first impressions and new friends, just trying to find my way around. All the changes came so quickly, I didn’t even have time to think about what I was doing or where I was going, I was just in survival mode, auto-piloting through the past few weeks. So when I finally had a moment to process, it all started to catch up to me and I couldn’t help but feel the homesickness setting in. So I had to ask myself, how can you feel homesick for a place you can’t point out?

There’s a song lyric that reads, “when you discover that home isn’t a person or a place, but a feeling you can’t get back,” and at first I didn’t really understand the meaning, but when I heard it again today it started to make more sense. It made me wonder, maybe home really isn’t a place. Maybe it shouldn’t be defined by where we were born, or where we grew up, or where we’ve lived the longest, maybe it really is just a feeling. In that sense, it’s memories we never have to be without, like a hug from my mom, watching a hockey game with my dad, hearing my brother’s laugh, being surrounded by my best friends from college, reunions with old friends from childhood, my dog. There are so many other feelings I’m sure I can’t get back from my previous homes, but these ones will always be with me. A “mobile home” that stays with me wherever I am now, and wherever I may end up.

I often think about going back to some of these places, but I know that the feeling I want to get from them doesn’t live there anymore. Going back to Buffalo won’t be the same as it was in high school, my parents’ new house in North Carolina will always be “my parents’ new house,” and going back to Madrid will never be quite the same as the first time.