What it means to go home...

A friend of mine, a new friend named Jeff, told me recently that he enjoyed reading my blog. He said it was interesting to read about the development of my trip and that there was a real story here. I doubt that, somehow, because to me it seems like the life of my family and this move would not be important to a wider audience. That, however, is beside the point.

What Jeff really liked is the crux of this story -- the basic premise: boy leaves home, boy returns home, home leaves boy... When Jeff wrote that it made me smile and laugh inside. Then I asked myself the question, "How do you get to a point where your home leaves you, and you feel abandoned by a part of your life?" Answering that may really take an entire novel, which I cannot do here.

I have discovered though what it means to return home. When I was leaving Malaysia I had a lot of preconceived notions of what it would be like to come back after such a long time and help close a chapter in our family history. I imagined that there would be a lot of stuff that would be familiar and I would spend time getting reacquainted with life in Canada, life in Ontario, and life on the farm with my parents. I imagined I would come back to find all the stuff I had left behind and I would need to deal with these things. And I couldn't have been more wrong...

Coming home is about renegotiating your relationship with it. It is about updating your memories, finding out what has changed and comparing what it is NOW to the way you remember it, and taking a good hard look at what hasn't changed -- because you've got to be realistic about what you left behind and more importantly, what you THOUGHT you left behind!

You see when you leave home and spend time away, you change. But what we forget is that home changes, too! You come back and there is a Pizza Hut where your bank used to be, your parents' hair has gotten a lot whiter, the things that you liked aren't nearly so good, and the things you hated aren't nearly so bad. And maybe this is all because of you. Having grown and changed, you see home with different eyes. But when you come home after being away maybe you are seeing it for what it actually is -- it's just a place. It's just buildings and grass and some roads and stoplights. Home was never really there, it was always where you made it.

When I write to people back in Malaysia, I feel confused. Part of me wants to write "I really miss home" referring to that country, not Canada. I never do write it though, it doesn't seem right. But at the same time, I know it wouldn't feel wrong.

Time for bed.