Tomorrow I am off to the motherland. If i am not beaten down with the jetleg and have inspiration, I will keep up here, if not -- I will see you in 3 weeks.
While I was packing bags yesterday, I asked myself how I feel about going home. I think I am nervous. I love my family but there have been a lot of hard punches in the past and every time I go home, I have to prepare myself for the unexpected jab-jab-hook-hook that might come from places least expected. Those hits tear up old wounds and press buttons in me that I have forgotten exist. I am also nervous because if things go really good there, I find myself torn in my decision to live here. In the past, fears that this might be the last time I see my grandparent have come true, so I feel a constant pressure to sqeeze the last drop out of every moment. I love to live my life that way but the jetleg usually is harder on me then I would like and instead of sqeezing last drops I am barely keeping my eyes open and my head from bobbing.
With all that, there is something very sentimental in me that floats up whenever I board the plane with a little flag painted on the side. I choke up every time I can speak my native language for the first time with the flight attendant and read a newspaper in my tongue. I think it will be hard no matter where I spend the rest of my life -- I will always miss the other country.