Una vuelta
Home.
Layover in Cinncinnati, Ohio: If you ever want to properly shock yourself, spend nine months in Europe, then arrive at the North Kentucky airport incredibly jetlagged and stand in front of a little store called "Market USA." I got woozy just taking in the red, white, and blue RHINESTONE tee-shirts. That, coupled with the nonstop CNN in the background predicting Ralph Nader's possible third try at presidency, the overwhelming mixture of McDonalds, TCBY, and Starbucks, made my head swim. I had been back in the US for ten minutes and I already felt like fleeing the border.
Not cultural shock--cultural nausea.
Six hours later, I saw the San Francisco bay for the first time all year. It was cloudless, and beautiful blue and green, and my entire body began to tremble. My blood sugar shot downward just as we landed the plane, and it was if I had become this cultural blender, liquefying nine months of Spanish expressions, eight-year-olds wielding Pokemon stickers, long train rides through Europe, awkward social exchanges, late night copas de vino and doodling in magic notebooks. All of it just shook me up, and as I stumbled through the gates, I couldn't help remembering that final night in California on September 27, watching the sunset over the bay and trying to freeze that last image of my mom and dad waving at the gate. I made a beeline for a juice stand and started chugging orange juice just as I spotted the tall silhouette of my ponytailed father. And then the smoothie burst, and I was jumping and crying and swinging my camera case and taking in the late afternoon sun (my third afternoon in one day, thanks to time changes and the longest day of the year), and suddenly it occurred to me:
the exodus is over.
and I'm all right with that, really: especially now that I've seen two of my very best friends in the world (you know your English has taken a turn for the worse when all you can say to your best friend since sixth grade is: HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI! oh, and HI!), and talked to others on the phone, and sat on the front porch eating fresh fruit.
my body is still split between hemispheres, now, and I have so much left to express, and so much more that I keep savoring in the back of my mind like poetic honey, letting it all drip down my spine so I can remember it all properly: climbing the German Reichstag at ten o'clock at night, attending a Parisian children's circus in the rain, wandering through Monet's water garden. It's all mine, and it's all carefully recorded in three bound notebooks and a thousand digital photos.
I look forward to seeing and hearing from friends, and hope that our paths will cross soon. My old cell phone number has been reactivated, and I will be home for about a week until my summer camp gigs begin. Let me know how you are, and download some of your best, funniest stories from the year, so we can all take up where we left off.
Home...home...home.
Layover in Cinncinnati, Ohio: If you ever want to properly shock yourself, spend nine months in Europe, then arrive at the North Kentucky airport incredibly jetlagged and stand in front of a little store called "Market USA." I got woozy just taking in the red, white, and blue RHINESTONE tee-shirts. That, coupled with the nonstop CNN in the background predicting Ralph Nader's possible third try at presidency, the overwhelming mixture of McDonalds, TCBY, and Starbucks, made my head swim. I had been back in the US for ten minutes and I already felt like fleeing the border.
Not cultural shock--cultural nausea.
Six hours later, I saw the San Francisco bay for the first time all year. It was cloudless, and beautiful blue and green, and my entire body began to tremble. My blood sugar shot downward just as we landed the plane, and it was if I had become this cultural blender, liquefying nine months of Spanish expressions, eight-year-olds wielding Pokemon stickers, long train rides through Europe, awkward social exchanges, late night copas de vino and doodling in magic notebooks. All of it just shook me up, and as I stumbled through the gates, I couldn't help remembering that final night in California on September 27, watching the sunset over the bay and trying to freeze that last image of my mom and dad waving at the gate. I made a beeline for a juice stand and started chugging orange juice just as I spotted the tall silhouette of my ponytailed father. And then the smoothie burst, and I was jumping and crying and swinging my camera case and taking in the late afternoon sun (my third afternoon in one day, thanks to time changes and the longest day of the year), and suddenly it occurred to me:
the exodus is over.
and I'm all right with that, really: especially now that I've seen two of my very best friends in the world (you know your English has taken a turn for the worse when all you can say to your best friend since sixth grade is: HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI! oh, and HI!), and talked to others on the phone, and sat on the front porch eating fresh fruit.
my body is still split between hemispheres, now, and I have so much left to express, and so much more that I keep savoring in the back of my mind like poetic honey, letting it all drip down my spine so I can remember it all properly: climbing the German Reichstag at ten o'clock at night, attending a Parisian children's circus in the rain, wandering through Monet's water garden. It's all mine, and it's all carefully recorded in three bound notebooks and a thousand digital photos.
I look forward to seeing and hearing from friends, and hope that our paths will cross soon. My old cell phone number has been reactivated, and I will be home for about a week until my summer camp gigs begin. Let me know how you are, and download some of your best, funniest stories from the year, so we can all take up where we left off.
Home...home...home.