Home at last?

I considered starting this week’s post with a line or two from a cheesy song about going home…you know, Daughtry’s overplayed, “Home,” or perhaps Bon Jovi’s “Who Says You Can’t Go Home?” but that would be too predictable. Too obvious. Instead, I’m simply going to say: I’m going home!

In less than twelve hours I will be boarding a plane to Atlanta. After almost five months, I will finally get to see the people I love. I’ll eat Mexican food and real movie theater popcorn. I’ll shop at Target and DSW. It’s embarrassing to admit, but just thinking about it makes me slightly squeal.

And yet, I’ve been so excited about everyone I’ll see and everything I’ll do that I seem to keep forgetting that this isn’t exactly a full-fledged homecoming. I am by no means home for good. No, this is a vacation, a holiday – a two week time-out from my new life in South Africa.

I’ve been here almost five months now, but in many ways it feels like much longer. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Now, once again, I don’t mean to imply that I’m unhappy here – I need only refer to my ‘list’ to remind myself of the reasons I love living in Africa – but in some ways I feel like my time here should be winding down instead of just beginning. I’m not panicked though; I think it’s merely ‘ex-study-abroad syndrome.’ This little known disorder typically occurs in well-traveled brats like myself who assume that because they have lived abroad (albeit for short amounts of times), they are emotionally equipped to move semi-permanently to far-off exotic locales. Symptoms of ex-study-abroad syndrome include severe homesickness (often only evident after 3-4 months away), extreme mood swings ranging from “What was I thinking?” hysteria to “What an adventure!” euphoria, and occasional confusion regarding the difference between moving abroad for a period of years and studying abroad for a period of months.

Although the disease can be distressing, there are several experimental treatments available. One rather controversial treatment involves limiting all contact with people and things from home. Some patients find it easier to adjust to their new life if they cut off all contact with their past. I’m unwilling to give this method a try. On the opposite end of the spectrum, although still controversial, is a treatment that requires the patient to remain in regular contact with family and friends from home. If possible, frequent trips home are recommended. I find this method to be much more appealing.

So here I go, home for a visit after only five months (only!). Some might disapprove of me going home in the midst of this fragile adjustment period, but I don’t care. When Roger and I made the decision to move across the planet, I negotiated no more than eight months between visits home. Now, after just five months away, the thought of waiting eight seems like an eternity, but I’m not thinking about that at the moment. I’m too excited about going home.

Now, odd as it sounds, there is also a bit of nervousness involved in going home after an extended period away. There are the superficial thoughts like, “Will they think I look different?” or “Have I picked up an accent?” or “Have I gained weight?” But there are also more genuine fears like; will it be even harder to leave this time? Will being home remind me of everything I’ve lost? Will seeing my mom and my sister only renew the initial pain of leaving them the first time? Will I be able to board my return flight?

Will someone please smack me? I’m not even home yet, and I’m already stressed about leaving. I need to simply enjoy the moment. I’ll worry about leaving when it’s time to board the plane. And when the time comes, I’ll remind myself of everything I love about Africa and think of the fun things I have to look forward to. And most importantly, I will think of the cute little cottage that should be ready and waiting for us by the time we get back.

Yes, the cottage is almost ready. There is light at the end of the tunnel. If all goes as planned, when we come back we will have our own space at last. No more laundry Nazi, no more tip-toeing around the house, no more hiding in my bedroom…I’ll be able to breathe again. And Roger and I will pick out furniture and dishes and linens, and maybe soon I’ll stop thinking of myself as a study-abroad student; maybe I’ll start to feel like I actually live here…

I live here. I live in Africa. It may not be my home, but I live here. And while it might never feel like home, at least I’ll soon have a house to come home to.

But I’m not thinking about that now, because…

“I’m going home, back to the place where I belong,
Where your love has always been enough for me.
I’m not running from, no I think you’ve got me all wrong,
I don’t regret this life I chose for me,
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I’m going home.”

(Sorry, I couldn’t resist!)

See you soon…