For some reason, I always go back to the music that I loved sophomore year of high school; something about those songs resonates with me more and more as the year’s pass. From The Postal Service’s “I am a visitor here, I am not permanent” to Something Corporate’s “I’ve never felt so lost, I’ve never felt so much at home,” I still identify with that music.
A friend from college and I were chatting texting recently (it’s 2011 after all); she also moved to a new city this year where she didn’t know anyone, similar to myself. She said something that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind since: “I feel so temporary.”
That, friends, in a nutshell, is how I often feel these days. College also felt temporary, but not like this does. It’s the classic existential crisis of not knowing where home is anymore. Is is Boston? St. Louis? The small town I grew up in? Or is it just Missouri/the Midwest, as I more generally say these days? However, part of me will always claim Rome as one of my homes, too. See, this is when it really gets complicated.
Today at Casserly House, I was chatting with one of the morning ESOL teachers. She asked about my Thanksgiving and how it was being away from home–or was Boston home now?
My answer? Boston… home? No, definitely, definitely not.
A housemate and I had a long conversation last night about, among other things, plans for life post-JVC and being homesick. She asked me how I felt about Boston now, and while I have a lot of thoughts about Boston, New England, and the East Coast and life outside of the Midwest in general, the first thing I thought was simply, “I need to go home.”
Because I have yet to learn how to process my life without the context of home. And that’s something I’m still trying to figure out.