August 5th, 2012
Location: My parent’s house
Time: 6:54 pm
I debated the location of this post. As I went to type home, my fingers hesitated over the keyboard.
A little bitty word with boat loads of connotation.
In Shanghai, I referred to home in two senses. There was home and there was HOME. The place where I lived and the place where I thought my heart belonged.
And here I am, back in the house of my childhood surrounded by my family and all things familiar. This is supposed to be HOME. Instead, it’s just home.
Say it enough times and the word begins to lose meaning. It sounds awkward rolling off my tongue and looks foreign on paper.
People ask me how it is to be back and what my plans are for the future. In expected polite form I reply that it’s an adjustment. In typing this I realize that statement is completely fanciful. It’s not an “adjustment” because there has been no adjusting. I’m stuck somewhere in the Pacific between China and Oregon and I don’t belong in either location any more.
I haven’t adjusted – I’m lost. And this time there are no bread crumbs to follow home.