For the past month or so, everyone I talk with (expat and local alike) asks me the same question, "Are you going home for the holiday's"? On the surface it seems like such a simple question. Heck, it's a yes/no question, they don't get much simpler than that. But for me, and my family, it is a loaded question. One that isn't as black and white as yes or no. I answer by saying, "We are celebrating the holiday's here in Chile with my parents and oldest brother" and leave it at that. It answers their question but it doesn't answer the ones that are now swirling through my brain - Would travelling back to the U.S. be considered going home, even though we don't have a home there? Or is celebrating at our house here in Chile considered staying home for the holiday's? Can I really call a place that I am still working on assimilating, home? On the other hand, can I call a place I have lived in but no longer have any ties to, home? This one simple question that I have heard so many times in the past few weeks has gotten me thinking about how I define home and where that might be for me and my family.
Almost all of the expats (U.S., Peruvian, Venezuelan, Australian, Argentinian...) I have met while living in Chile are truly going home for the holiday's. They are headed to places where they have an extended family and many close friends. They are returning to childhood houses, scheduling meet ups with grade school/high school/college friends and will revisit places where memories of a lifetime will surround them. Even if they have moved many times since leaving their parents houses, most of them still have a place that they always return to, the place they consider their home base. There is no ambiguity to the word home for them. Simply saying the word conjures up a specific image for them - a house in which they spent their formative years, a city that they grew up in (even though houses may have changed), and for others it is not the place they grew up, but rather an adopted city that they have been living in for so many years they have lost count. The point is, they don't have to hesitate one millisecond when asked where their home is. They know and have always known. But it isn't that easy for me and I have never really thought about it until now.
Why now? Not that much has changed for me - well, I do live on another continent now - but even that is not new to me. I move. I move a lot. In all, I have called a total of 10 different places home in my lifetime. And that is not just houses moved, that is times I have picked up all of my belongings and carted them more than 500 miles (I don't count moves of under 250 miles to be a move - that is just changing scenery). If you do the math, that means I have moved once every 3.9 years. Count in the fact that I spent 10 years in one of those places and it means I have unpacked more boxes than some military personnel. It also brings my average time in one spot down to 3.22222 years. (Add in the houses I have moved within cities while living there and that number goes down drastically). That's a lot of moving people.
For a long time I would have told you that my home was Peoria (and I still do if I just want to get off the topic and not have to tell a very. long. story.) In fact, this is the place I spent my formative years. In essence, I grew up there. I went to grade school, I finished high school and I moved on to college just like many other people. But here is where it gets tricky. My parents were moved right as I was heading out of high school and into college. I was leaving home - and so were they - and I was never going to get the chance to go back. When I packed up to go to college, my parents were also packing to move to their next assignment. There would be no visiting with friends on Christmas break. There would be no impromptu get togethers at Easter to discuss how our new lives were going. No summers of goofing off and enjoying the freedom that is afforded you at 18, 19, 20... If I wanted to see my friends, we had to make special plans...outside of the holidays, because those were reserved for family, and mine no longer lived in the same place as theirs did. As I had moved away from home, home had moved away too.
And this was to continue. Until my dad retired. My "home base" kept shifting. My parents moved 6 times in 12 years. They moved to two different countries, and 4 different states. And each time, when someone asked me if I was going home for the holidays, the answer was always a resounding yes. No hesitation. I still associated home with my parents. I associated it with wherever my family was at the time, even if I had never set foot in the house they lived in before. That was still home, because it was were my heart and soul were. Without my parents to ground me, I was just floundering in the world, pretending that I was a grown up. I needed to touch base every once in awhile to remember who I was and where I came from. Remember, I was moving around just as much as they were and was a bit lost myself. They, and their ever moving homes, provided me with the knowledge that even though you didn't recognize the surroundings, as long as family was there, you were home.
And then I got married and had kids. Everything changed. Not only did I have a family of my own, but now I had to provide that same sense of belonging for my kids. Infants that were counting on me to make them feel safe, feel loved, feel like they were home. And it was easy for the first 3 years. We had adopted California quickly. In fact, it is the one place that felt like home the minute I set foot on land. There was no adjustment, there was no breaking in. I was just home. And by then the question had changed to, "Are you staying home for the holidays"? And I could answer, "Nope, we are headed to my parents house to celebrate". Their house was no longer home to me, but it was a gathering point. The whole family traveled to one spot, spent the holiday's and then went to their respective homes until it was time to do it again. But for the first time EVER in my life, I will be spending the Christmas holiday in the home I currently reside in. For the very first time I will not have to pack presents or have them shipped (or have someone else do it for me as I was too young), I will not have to pack a suitcase, I don't have to think that putting up the tree is a waste of time since no one will be around to enjoy it come mid-December. I will be waking up on Christmas morning surrounded by my own things, in the home I live in for the First. Time. Ever. (and I mean ever - not just since I have been an adult). I did not do this as a child since we either had to head back to the states for home leave or if we were already states side, we headed to Wisconsin where the extended family was.
So, will I be heading home for the holiday's? Nope. I am already home and I am staying put. For once in my life at least I will be in my own home for the holidays.
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