I am sitting outside on perhaps the best temporary balcony ever
in Singapore.
It's sprinkling ever so slightly, and I probably should be more worried about my computer getting wet, but it is so lovely and cool tonight. The nights out here on the balcony are much cooler than the daytime in general, but with the rain and breeze, it might be about 82 degrees rather than 88, and, though it may not seem like much,
it makes a huge difference.
I realized recently, a couple of things:
1. Some of the travel blogs I love are chock full of content (as in writing). I love photos as much as the next person, but I am infinitely drawn more to a good read, an honest account of day to day life, and the ins and outs of being somewhere foreign--- the quirks of that particular place,
both positive and negative.
2. When I don't write, I start to feel strange. Like a beast trapped inside me, a story makes its presence known. I started to feel homesick a couple of days ago, and, generally, homesickness is just
not something that happens to me.
As a side note, I remember when I was about 7 or 8, I had a friend Kimmy, who lived next door to my grandparents', and we played together nearly every other day. She was very much a tomboy and much more outgoing than I--- at least, that was my impression of her. One night, I asked her if she wanted to sleep over my house (I was one of those children who was constantly sleeping over at my friends' or having sleepovers) and Kimmy agreed. That night, all was well, and then, suddenly, as it was getting late, she started crying and wouldn't stop. I was shocked and didn't know what to do. It was a first. My mom came in and asked her what was the matter, and she said that she was 'homesick.' I felt terrible, as I had invited her over and she was really upset, but more than anything, I remember having absolutely no idea how she was feeling or how to relate to her in that moment,
because I had never felt the feeling
she was feeling before.
That has generally been the case with me even as an adult for the most part---- if I have ever felt something akin to a longing for a physical place in my past, it is usually accompanied by other strange symptoms: vivid dreams and a kind of hyper anxiety. This leads me to believe, that what I've experienced hasn't been homesickness, but perhaps an inability to relate my feelings to another warm being for whatever reason.
I think home is a feeling--- and home can be anywhere you choose, as long as you surround yourself with good people and,
more importantly, know where your own
True North is.
