Home

It's weird when you start referring to multiple places as home. I say that I'm home now, yet I also say I'm going home to London in September. It's a tricky balance between feeling like I don't have a home, and feeling at home everywhere I go.

This post is about my home in the suburbs of Philadelphia where I've spent most of my life. Being back here is always bittersweet. It's great to be able to spend time with my family and friends, to spend some time in Philly, and explore the things that have been lost in the depths of my messy room.

But there are also so many memories. Every detail of the hardest years of my life are ingrained in this place, and as much as I would like to say that I am completely at peace with my past and therefore not bothered by these things, that isn't entirely true.

This is not to say that the things that have affected me in the past affect me today, or that things that have come and gone are constantly on my mind. But being home triggers memories, and some things have been forgotten but not quite forgiven. My imagination is to vivid-- if I think about something to much I feel as if I'm experiencing it all over again.

Flying

When I was a kid, I loved to fly.

To be among the clouds, to be one of the specs I so often watched fly above me, wondering what exciting adventures the people aboard were embarking upon, I found absolutely fascinating.

Now that I travel so much more, many aspects are frustrating. Airports are a pretty terrible place to spend time, and there's always rushing, and waiting around, and lots of stress.

But once I get on the plane, a little bit of that childish excitement always returns.

I still always look out the window as the plane takes off. 

I love to watch the city I'm leaving grow smaller and smaller, until all I can see is clouds.

On Homesickness

Today I was caught off guard by the first wave of homesickness I've felt since moving to London in September. I've been thinking about summer a lot, and looking forward to spending some time in Philly. But I also know that after about a week I'll be missing London tons, thinking every day of how I can't wait to get back here. I guess that's the problem with feeling settled in too many different places-- no matter where you are you're always homesick for somewhere else.

It's a familiar feeling, having first joined me when I started going to overnight summer camps as a kid. I went to two, and my experiences at each continue to be a huge part of who I am. Both felt like home to me. I spent the other parts of my year missing them, and my time at each missing the other, and sometimes missing home. Not that these nostalgic feelings took away from my experiences, just that they always seemed to be slipping around in the back of my mind somewhere.

The more experiences I have, the more places I'm aching to call home. I frequently daydream about India. I miss the mountains in a way I've never missed of nature before. I miss how colorful it was and the people who were my family those three months. It's a strange feeling, knowing that I will never get those exact feelings back. I hope I will return to India some day, but my situation will be so distant from what it was.

It's stranger still feeling that I'm past the point of knowing where to call home. Just floating I guess, which isn't so bad. I like being in the in-between.