almost midnight at a half empty desk

No one lives the world in general.

-- Clifford Geertz

  I'm sitting at a desk, alone and a little sad in a new country. Home seems far away, a place that doesn't even exist for me now. It has been packed up in to countless cardboard boxes and shipped off to various locations, and now even my loved ones are scattered across the eastern seaboard. My center, my house, my garden, my family -- they're all so far away, distanced and displaced from me. 

  I managed to bring small elements of my previous life with me. Pictures of my parents and boyfriend, a painting of my very loved (but expired) cat, a tiny portion of my book collection, some DVDs and an iPod. There's my eagle feather from Oregon, the necklace my father gave me when I was nineteen, a little blue Hippo on a key chain my mother bought me at the Louvre in Paris. Little and insignificant things that would probably mean very little to anyone else. But to me, they mean the world -- and they are the only tangible things left for me to hold and remind me of where I come from and who I am.

  I knew it was going to be hard. I prepared myself mentally, and I've managed to cope with the changes well. I've moved in to a new place, enrolled in new classes, and am about to be minted as a brand new Teaching Assistant. I've even handled the time zone difference pretty well. At night though, it gets pretty lonely. I miss my dad stomping through the house on his way to the kitchen. I miss my mom telling me to pick up my stuff off the floor. I miss my boyfriend snuggling up next to me. Instead of the people I love, I have a few textbooks and a laptop to stare at. Paper and electronics simply can't compete with the warmth of human contact.

  Over the past few days I've met some interesting people. A lot of them come from places that, geographically and culturally, are impossibly far away. Places like Africa and South America. I watch them, and I see them coping. Perhaps it's just on the surface, but they look content and pleased. Secretly, I wonder if they ever get homesick like I do.  Do they miss their families and pets? Do they they ever just want some home cooked food? Does anyone else wish people could imagine what 'home' is like?

  In many ways, I like it here. People are friendly. The skies are blue. The sun shines a lot. The campus has all sorts of cute critters hopping around, from the over sized rabbits to the cheeky magpies. There's a nice train that runs over the river, and a lot of parks to play in. I could shop until I drop if I wanted to -- or if I had the money to. It's not all bad. In fact, most of it is good. I just miss the familiar. I miss a certain place, a certain time, and specific people. If I could just bundle them up with me, and carry them around with me forever, I'd be happy.

  I arrived on August twenty fourth, and it's only the third of September. I realize that I still need to take some time to adjust. And yes, in that time, I've experienced some magical things, like the Rocky Mountains and seeing an elk for the first time. There will be a time for me to write about those moments, I promise. But for now, I'm just a little bit homesick. I wish I could unpack all the boxes and recreate my home for the next 2 years.

  This whole experience has made me realize how very true the quote "no one lives the world in general" is. Home is not a generalized entity. It's a specific place, a combination of people, emotions, senses and memories. Uprooting and leaving home is never easy. Yet when I look at the people here from Nigeria and El Salvador, and see them managing, it makes me think -- yes, I can. More importantly, yes, I will.