Finally, after a time that was an age long and yet passed in the blink of an eye – again – I’m home.
The concept of “home” is an interesting one. For me, it’s a conscious choice, more than a place or building. I have decided that Brooklyn is where I want to be, and therefore returning to it brings a sense of relief – my mind can rest, my body releases its state of semi-alarm.
Of course, my bed, my kitchen, and my things all are very convincing arguments for “home” as a place.
My first morning back in the US was reminiscent of my first morning in Japan – brilliant sun, the day taking off, a desire to go out and do things – yet accompanied by a feeling of displacement, as if I don’t know where I am or how to be here. This is what being in a new place is.
Even “home” feels new. Although I slip quickly back into the muscle-memory of moving around my kitchen, sitting in my desk chair, moving through my space in the dark, there’s a film between me and these things. It creates a sense of unreality, of floating, not quite being grounded; and in a way it’s very exciting.
I know this feeling will dissipate soon, and likely sooner than I’m ready, but for now, I get to enjoy the thrill of a “new” place.
