Back in America

I left Beijing at 6 pm on Friday, July 22, and I arrived back in Toronto at 6:40 pm the same day. Time differences can really shake you up.

As soon as I got off the plane people have been asking me how it is being home, like I have an answer. Maybe I’m supposed to, but it was all so confusing. The jetlag didn’t help. There’s nothing like being the exact opposite, 12-hours of night/day for a year to mess up your sleep schedule. I’ve been home for almost a week now, and I’m still getting up at 6 am. I haven’t slept for more than 5 hours at a time.

Coming home, especially to my parents’ house in Mattapoisett, is an especially strange way to re-enter the country. In “the house that time forgot”, everything was at firs eerily the same, as if I’d never left. My face wash and toothbrush sat waiting for me on the sink, as if I’d used them this morning instead of last August.

It felt comforting to hug my parents and let them drive me home after a year of trying to figure out taxi pictures armed with pre-printed maps and addresses in Chinese. At the same time, I know that I am different, and out of practice responding politely to their smothering care.

In our driveway, my father gave me point-by-point instructions as I lifted one of my suitcases from the back seat. Sure, I’d packed and lugged three giant suitcases from the hostel in Beijing to the airport, and through customs in Canada, but I do need help getting just one out of a car.

Of course under and above it all I am lucky to have them, and happy to be back. I find myself missing China, though. My last month there, traveling and spending time in Beijing without work, was so relaxing and fulfilling. I finally found out enough places to get around to, and people I genuinely enjoyed going there with. I had a solid rock climbing, Brazillian dancing, swimming, and biking regimen that made it actually fun to do things sober. It’s like my life just figured out how to get good there, and then it was over.

I hope to go abroad again, and when I do, to stay for two years. One just isn’t enough to make a life somewhere else. Or in my case, not enough time to live it.