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Homesick
by
Elizabeth Horner
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 was back in Ohio, I knew the first thing I
would do after school ended for the day 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 they 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 everyplace 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
someone new 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 them 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.
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