Sunday I was overcome by my greatest bout of homesickness so far this year. I'm feeling the first major aftershock this evening.
True, the school year is veritably zipping along. I almost can say without exaggeration, "three months until home!" But that's a quarter of the year. What I've already passed away from the comfort of my own home three times, I have to pass yet again. And this last time, it's going to be HOT. This reality has been hitting me over the head like a wooden spoon the last few days.
Don't get me wrong - it's not so much the "enduring" what is down here - that's a verb I used a lot last year, but doesn't even really apply any more - it's the missing what's back home (that part has remained true throughout my Honduran tenure). The Decemberists, my favorite band of the past 6 years, is playing in Michigan TWICE over the next month and a half, including at Calvin, the very first place I saw them back in 2004. Plainwell Ice Cream had their opening weekend, and I talked to my brother as he was eating his first cone of the season on Sunday. I'm listening to the stream from the Grand Rapids local station, 88.1 WYCE, as I type this post.
The biggest problem is homesickness for things that don't even exist. This afternoon, as I tried to take a nap, I was suddenly plagued with the mental image/feeling of being freshly showered, one bare foot dug into the carpet as I sit in the corner of the couch at my folks' place, watching the Tigers on TV before the second-half slump, window and sliding door open to provide a nice cross-breeze, and could not get it out of my head. My stomach began hurting with the desire to feel that in real life immediately. (Sure, that situation would also imply no planning, no grading, no guilt for not doing those things, as well. That's definitely part of the desire.)
It all started when I realized the Holland Christian one-act competition piece, which I saw for 9 years straight, was done for the season. That got me on the HC website, scanning the staff page, seeing all the familiar names of my old teachers. The only way to get it out of my system was to write a few emails and call home.
To deal with today's aftershock, I booted up blogspot, began writing this, and concurrently read over my older posts from when I hated Honduras. The fact that I'm not that same person who wrote those posts speaks in droves toward...something optimistic.
Honduras still isn't paradise. It will never be home. I'll always be a total homebody, not to mention a nostalgia freak - whether I live in Michigan, Colorado, Honduras, or China (I won't live in China, but still), I'll look back on the past (or future) more favorably than the present. I think I'll always find or build some fence to separate me from the perceived greener grass. It's not an appealing character trait, and certainly something not to condemn myself to, but I think that's just me. That will result in bouts of homesickness. Deal with it.
And I will deal with it. But first I have to deal with a pile of grading and an exam to write.
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That's what I like about thoughts. One day, they can be inclined to something, and you realize that’s who you are. But with the pass of time, people realize the little changes in their attitude. They no longer who they thought they used to be. I guess behavior is so prone to changing and not being stable.
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