When I feel homesick, I'm not thinking of New York, or Long Island. I'm not remembering the water company park behind my house, or the woods behind my friend Keith's house. I'm not recalling days of working at PathMark and Burger King and watching movies at the multiplex that used to be a drive thru. I'm not wishing I could get a chicken parm hero from Roma's (though sometimes, I admit, I do wish just such a thing). I'm definitely not thinking of high school, as I seem to have so few strong memories of that time--I wasn't yet myself, I don't think, and I neither made an impact nor was greatly impacted.
I'm also not thinking of college, or the snow, or the parties, or the football games between the radio and television crews (who were quite interchangeable, in fact). I'm not longing for the days of classrooms and papers and school projects and grades and all the awkward missteps that made up such an integral part of my personal growth.
And I'm certainly not missing Orlando, though some of my greatest and closest friends are from that time. After all, most of them have gone away, scattered to the winds, to at least three corners of this country and, in at least one case, on a continuous journey because of the nature of her career.
No, when I say I'm homesick, I'm thinking of a place I didn't grow up, a country of which I am not a citizen, a city I didn't set foot in until after my thirty-third birthday. I have no idea how, or even if, I'll be able to return long-term, though that's my intention. For the moment, though, that's in the distant future. Presently, it's enough to say, when I'm feeling homesick (and M agrees), it's for Sydney.
1 comment:
I hear you completely. When I think of "home", I think of Harlan. I lived there with Preston and his parents for four years. His parents are my family. Harlan is my home.
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