it’s been 7 years since i left my “home”–home being where i stay when i visit my parents.
i did not grow up in the house and the city where they live. it still feels foreign to me.
the room they call “your room” i do not have any memories of.
it’s the way it looks in the morning light, the smell of fresh linen on my pillow…i wake up in the middle of night and i don’t recognize where i am. my mother gets very upset when she hears me say that i feel like a guest and should make my bed–dai, this IS your home. don’t be a stranger.
home to me, is a particular thing. the word reminds me of the feelings to closeness and estrangement.
i am here, but not for long. or i am here but i can not be here. we moved many times when my sister and i were kids. a new city, a new school, new classmates. different places, different people, and the same strangeness. in some places i was a popular kid. in some, i was not. i have not revisited those places and friends after we moved.
i left japan right after college. moved to New York City to study in a graduate school. it was an excuse (an expensive one for my parents, i must say). i needed to figure out how to live with my sexuality–this thing that i had been struggling with, but could not really understand. a new city, a new school, the familiar estrangement. it was quite education, alright. endless night-outs, countless dating (online and offline), friendships and heart-breaks. i felt close to myself. i made myself at home.
now i’m here. vancouver, british columbia, canada. with a partner of 3.5 years. we are becoming permanent residents. again, a new city, a new school (this time for phd), the same old feeling of being out of place/at home. when i ride my scooter to go to school, there is a point where i can see the north shore mountains and the ocean beyond the houses and trees. what a beautiful,beautiful sight. but very strange indeed.
(dai/vancouver)
