The terminology is seemingly innocuous : coming back home.
It doesn't matter how it's worded: "Are you going home this summer?" "When are you coming home?" Whether I'm coming or going, everyone refers to the place I originally came from as home. But what if it isn't?
The concept of home carries so many implications -- security, intimacy, familiarity, acceptance, belonging. But what if that isn't the case? What if I'm not coming home, but simply relocating to a place I used to live? I don't mean to sound heartless, but the associations that come with the mention of home do not necessarily ring true for me. The most I can say is my hometown is familiar to me. It is not secure or intimate. Can I really claim my hometown in Oregon as "home" if I haven't lived there in a decade? Yes, it is a town I've lived in the longest - about 15 years - and yes, I still have family in town. But is it still my home?
While living overseas, I've had to consciously stop myself from correcting others when they ask when I'm "going home". I set down roots. I made Thailand, and then Korea, my home. I did not see myself leaving Asia anytime soon. Yet to expats and locals alike, when summer or Christmas rolled around, the inevitable question would pop up innocently enough: "Are you going home?" I wanted to tell them, "I am home!" "This is my home!" But I knew what people meant: a return to where I once lived. Perhaps I recoiled from the idea because of the overall implication that where I was currently living was only temporary; that I'd eventually return to my "hometown".
Little did they know that I carried home with me. Home was where I lay down roots; found a community; invested in the life around me; learned to function in a culture different than my own.
So did I return home? The difficulties in answering this question is that when I came back to Oregon, I already knew it was on a temporary basis. I couldn't lay down roots and settle in because I was already planning on leaving 6-8 months later. This has made reverse culture shock extra difficult to manage, mostly because the entire process of acclimating to a new culture (or old in this case) is allowing yourself to settle in. I couldn't settle in because it would make uprooting even harder to handle.
I'm content calling this "home" for now. But in a few months, Greece will be my home. And after that, who knows?
I know the world is only a temporary home. One day I'll be in my forever-home. It makes drifting from one place to another infinitely easier. I hold people and places loosely. I cherish friendships when I am present, yet feel blessed to have friends world-wide.
I've learned to hold home close to the chest. It is not a place; it is a feeling.
Note: I don't know how long I will write about this subject, but there will be a few installments concerning reverse culture shock.
It doesn't matter how it's worded: "Are you going home this summer?" "When are you coming home?" Whether I'm coming or going, everyone refers to the place I originally came from as home. But what if it isn't?
The concept of home carries so many implications -- security, intimacy, familiarity, acceptance, belonging. But what if that isn't the case? What if I'm not coming home, but simply relocating to a place I used to live? I don't mean to sound heartless, but the associations that come with the mention of home do not necessarily ring true for me. The most I can say is my hometown is familiar to me. It is not secure or intimate. Can I really claim my hometown in Oregon as "home" if I haven't lived there in a decade? Yes, it is a town I've lived in the longest - about 15 years - and yes, I still have family in town. But is it still my home?
While living overseas, I've had to consciously stop myself from correcting others when they ask when I'm "going home". I set down roots. I made Thailand, and then Korea, my home. I did not see myself leaving Asia anytime soon. Yet to expats and locals alike, when summer or Christmas rolled around, the inevitable question would pop up innocently enough: "Are you going home?" I wanted to tell them, "I am home!" "This is my home!" But I knew what people meant: a return to where I once lived. Perhaps I recoiled from the idea because of the overall implication that where I was currently living was only temporary; that I'd eventually return to my "hometown".
Little did they know that I carried home with me. Home was where I lay down roots; found a community; invested in the life around me; learned to function in a culture different than my own.
So did I return home? The difficulties in answering this question is that when I came back to Oregon, I already knew it was on a temporary basis. I couldn't lay down roots and settle in because I was already planning on leaving 6-8 months later. This has made reverse culture shock extra difficult to manage, mostly because the entire process of acclimating to a new culture (or old in this case) is allowing yourself to settle in. I couldn't settle in because it would make uprooting even harder to handle.
I'm content calling this "home" for now. But in a few months, Greece will be my home. And after that, who knows?
I know the world is only a temporary home. One day I'll be in my forever-home. It makes drifting from one place to another infinitely easier. I hold people and places loosely. I cherish friendships when I am present, yet feel blessed to have friends world-wide.
I've learned to hold home close to the chest. It is not a place; it is a feeling.
Note: I don't know how long I will write about this subject, but there will be a few installments concerning reverse culture shock.
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