Aujourd'hui
Quel un jour! C'etait un jour de changement, un jour de voyages... Il commençai à Holland, et ici je suis, en Petoskey, a la maison de mon père et ma mère. Voyages du monde en Michigan.
I'm not sure why I wanted to write in French so bad, but it would take me forever to say what I want to say (not to mention, it is pretty much jibberish to most people, especially if they can read French) so I guess I'll have to switch to English.
Anyway. It was kind of an epic day. This morning I went to church with my sister, thinking about the many evolutions that I've been through, and what a British person I've become. The church seemed so big, and it occurred to me that there are a lot of Americans that go to church. And that they often go to quite big churches. And as we drove through town, something bizarre struck me, that I remembered Sarah mentioning when she got back from the US last year: towns don't have a city centre. I suddenly found myself a stranger in this familiar place, and I really didn't know what to think of it, other than, suddenly, I felt like I was seeing myself from outside myself, as a stranger in a strange land, amidst all of these Americans......
We returned to the house and put on some Alias. In the past two days we've watched about halfway through Season 2 - shocking! It was nice to see good old familiar Los Angeles, my dear sweet Downtown - oh the glory - captured in its finest light and projected over and over again onto the screen of my imagination. Later, I met up with my cousin to get a ride back to The Homefront. We stopped for dinner at a diner chain, Bob's Big Boy, and experienced stellar service and cheap food - a classic American combination. It felt good, familiar, natural, home-like. I had the all-you-can-eat salad bar for $6.95. I hadn't seen my cousin since I hosted her for a day in Paris, whilst she was on a France-Germany-Denmark trip to see some of her fellow foreign exchange friends. We picked right back up where we left off, talking of all things foreign, travel, Europe, friends. She expressed her appreciation of the suave French, the quirky Danes, and the brilliant Germans. We discovered our mutual obsession with Germany, Germans, and all things relating, and she gave me a few wise words to live by: "Date a Frenchman, marry a German, have an affair with a Dane." Sage advice, excluding the affair. But it does make sense. If you're stuck for the rest of your life, it's best to be with a logical, rational, orderly, functional German. Done and done. After all, I do intend to carry on my family's legacy of German ancestry.
Upon my return to the lonely house (my parents and brother are gone for the weekend, and won't be back until late tonight/in the morning) I met the cats, who sort of took me by surprise, because I missed Barnabess so much again, and I let myself shed a few tears before I moved on. I started exploring. It's amazing how stable parents are. Things exactly in order, exactly as I remember. My mother had postcards I'd sent her all year up on the fridge: Edinburgh, Fez, Heidelberg, Paris, and soon-to-be Berlin. In my room, a calendar was opened to September, although I haven't seen another month of 2008 in this house. I started to unpack my luggage. I made some calls. I looked at a high school photo of me, taken when I was a senior. I don't remember taking that photo. I don't remember anything about it, actually. I've seen it on the wall all these years since I graduated, but I actually cannot remember anything about the moment it was taken.
I always feel strange, untangling my feelings about home and heimat after being away. I guess it doesn't hit me until I've made it to ground zero, my parents' home. Je ne suis pas chez moi, je ne suis jamais.
I'm not sure why I wanted to write in French so bad, but it would take me forever to say what I want to say (not to mention, it is pretty much jibberish to most people, especially if they can read French) so I guess I'll have to switch to English.
Anyway. It was kind of an epic day. This morning I went to church with my sister, thinking about the many evolutions that I've been through, and what a British person I've become. The church seemed so big, and it occurred to me that there are a lot of Americans that go to church. And that they often go to quite big churches. And as we drove through town, something bizarre struck me, that I remembered Sarah mentioning when she got back from the US last year: towns don't have a city centre. I suddenly found myself a stranger in this familiar place, and I really didn't know what to think of it, other than, suddenly, I felt like I was seeing myself from outside myself, as a stranger in a strange land, amidst all of these Americans......
We returned to the house and put on some Alias. In the past two days we've watched about halfway through Season 2 - shocking! It was nice to see good old familiar Los Angeles, my dear sweet Downtown - oh the glory - captured in its finest light and projected over and over again onto the screen of my imagination. Later, I met up with my cousin to get a ride back to The Homefront. We stopped for dinner at a diner chain, Bob's Big Boy, and experienced stellar service and cheap food - a classic American combination. It felt good, familiar, natural, home-like. I had the all-you-can-eat salad bar for $6.95. I hadn't seen my cousin since I hosted her for a day in Paris, whilst she was on a France-Germany-Denmark trip to see some of her fellow foreign exchange friends. We picked right back up where we left off, talking of all things foreign, travel, Europe, friends. She expressed her appreciation of the suave French, the quirky Danes, and the brilliant Germans. We discovered our mutual obsession with Germany, Germans, and all things relating, and she gave me a few wise words to live by: "Date a Frenchman, marry a German, have an affair with a Dane." Sage advice, excluding the affair. But it does make sense. If you're stuck for the rest of your life, it's best to be with a logical, rational, orderly, functional German. Done and done. After all, I do intend to carry on my family's legacy of German ancestry.
Upon my return to the lonely house (my parents and brother are gone for the weekend, and won't be back until late tonight/in the morning) I met the cats, who sort of took me by surprise, because I missed Barnabess so much again, and I let myself shed a few tears before I moved on. I started exploring. It's amazing how stable parents are. Things exactly in order, exactly as I remember. My mother had postcards I'd sent her all year up on the fridge: Edinburgh, Fez, Heidelberg, Paris, and soon-to-be Berlin. In my room, a calendar was opened to September, although I haven't seen another month of 2008 in this house. I started to unpack my luggage. I made some calls. I looked at a high school photo of me, taken when I was a senior. I don't remember taking that photo. I don't remember anything about it, actually. I've seen it on the wall all these years since I graduated, but I actually cannot remember anything about the moment it was taken.
I always feel strange, untangling my feelings about home and heimat after being away. I guess it doesn't hit me until I've made it to ground zero, my parents' home. Je ne suis pas chez moi, je ne suis jamais.