Restlessness hit hard again. I have associated the holidays with passport necessary trips for some time now. Just doesn't seem right when "going home" involves only Metro North.
Since PC and I have gotten back in touch, we've exchanged the kind of long rambling emails necessary to catch up on a couple of years of lost contact.
He asked about my life, and in my reply, I asked if it were possible to still feel like an expat, even when back in the country and city of one's childhood.
The cliche will tell us that "you can never go home again," but my objective isn't to indulge in a navel gazing retrospective about nostalgia and growing apart.
Because the reality is, I DO feel like I am home. And that is the problem. I don't feel like an expat anymore.
There are myriad triumphant moments as an expat. As an expat, even something as simple as successfully taking a taxi, or bargaining at a local market, or asking for directions can result in such a high. And as the conversations and interactions become more complex, the feeling of triumph becomes that much greater.
And it's rare that I congratulate myself after getting out of a taxi in NYC.
Although, now that I think about it... perhaps I SHOULD meet Grabby Cabby Guy for a drink. Getting out of THAT taxi would certainly be cause for celebration.
We Are Family, My Kangaroo Sisters and Me - This article is ten years old now. But in revisiting this blog, I saw this post among my drafts and had to publish it. Had to. I am not sure to what d...
2 months ago