home thoughts from abroad (remix)

I don't write here much, and it's very late now and I should probably sleeping, but some thoughts have been crossing my mind, so please allow me a moment or two to indulge myself. I was having an introductory conversation with someone tonight, and he seemed surprised that I, to his mind, had already 'written off' where I am now as an option for life, work, and all that, after my PhD is finished. The truth is, he misunderstood me. I haven't written anything off, because 'here' was never an option. What I want, most of all, is simply to go home.

It's been five years since I emigrated. London, Copenhagen, and now Durham. My life now is a mis-mash of a Danish-UK world, long train rides to airports in other parts of the country to take advantage of the cheap airfares, to spend stolen weekends and weeks with the one I love. I have three bank cards, three sim cards, a handful of random coins in my purse. I miss my home, my real home, so much. It's not that I am idealising a romantic idea of how great it must be, because I know the reality is a political and economic and social situation that is not entirely satisfactory for me, a life with which I might find much lacking. But, the countryside is still beautiful, the cities superb, the butter and milk delicious, and the people good at small-talk. 

I am so close to home; social media means I can stay in constant touch with my dearest ones, but the truth is that, after half a decade, it just doesn't feel the same anymore. I've missed so many birthdays and celebrations, and I really just want to be in a town where everyone has the same slang, where the music is played fast and mercilessly at the local pub session, where we have a common understanding of where we've come from, where we're going. It's not that where I am now is a million miles away, but sometimes the closer you are, the farther you feel. 

What really prompted this was reading Garrison Keillor's beautifully crafted tale of life in Copenhagen, as a foreigner. He is a creative hero of mine, and I find his descriptions of the peace and tranquility he finds in Copenhagen comforting and sad at the same time. I know all the feelings, these feelings are my own. But I feel sad because I know Copenhagen will never be mine, never be ours. We can live there, have a CPR number, an apartment, pay our taxes and use the bike lanes, but home is something else entirely, and I can't wait to get back to it. Can't wait for that part of life to really start, at last. 

Feels Like I'm Not Going Home

 

Today was a bit of a homesick day. I missed the feel of walking in the door and being greeted by my cats and my dog and putting on the kettle, making tea, sitting down and going through the newspaper supplements my Dad always kept for me. I missed the closeness, the familiarity, knowing where I am, where I'm going.

Sometimes I envy those still at home, those that have never moved and never had to say goodbye after a flying two day visit. To never have to arrange Christmas, birthdays, holidays months in advance, to drive a few miles down the road to see friends and family. To know right outside your window the world is as it's been your whole life, with no surprises. Just home.

And then I think to myself, what's the use? What's the use in living in this half-way world, between memories, nostalgia and the reality of the present. I'm here now, and here's where I should be. I chose to move, and then to move again, to a rather strange place where the alphabet sounds all wrong and they never rush. It isn't so bad being away from home, in fact it's pretty nice and it makes the memories sweeter still.

All there is to do, once the bout of homesickness is dispensed with, is to book a flight home and look forward to sitting in my kitchen with Napoleon trying to steal my breakfast again.