Home, that imaginary place...

A lot has happened since I wrote my last post. It is hard to summarize, put on display, the emotions, feelings and moments experienced. But I will try.

I found a home for Christmas.

On Christmas Eve, my neighbours invited me home. We had a wonderful Indian dinner. 7 Americans, to 2 Indians. But the meal was enjoyed by all. I always imagined Christmas Eve like this. There was a light flurry of snow. And at one point I stood outside, and watched my new found 'family' through the bay windows. The lights from the tree kept the house warm, along with the love that filled the atmosphere. And it touched my heart that I didn't have to pass by that very scene and walk in to an empty house as I had done on the past two Christmas's. I spent the night there, on their couch. Books, gifts and DVDs were spread on the floor right before bed time. 'Gifts from Santa' for their 2 year old son. I spent almost the entire night staring at the tree and the angel that looked down on me.

When I awoke the next morning, I could feel the 2 year olds excitement from the upstairs floor, I could hear his voice 'is Santa here?' and when he came down the stairs, the joy in his eyes was beautiful. He ran toward the gifts and one the first ones he opened was a cute little saxophone. His father was a former jazz artist. And being the wonderful sax player he is, it was a moment of sheer amazement to see father watch son play his first little note on the saxophone.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt so grateful to be included in a moment as intimate as this.

India

I remember sitting in a pub with Jo, a good colleague of mine. Constantly abused, and mentally traumatized by her dad since the age of 3. And I had a verbal diarrhea of 'family' and 'home' and 'relationships'. And she had a blank expression on her face and she said, 'I don't get it when people say, I am going 'home', I miss my family'.'I am my family. I AM home'.

And here we were, two women with completely contrasting concepts on relationships. But having a perfectly harmonious conversation.

When I packed my bags, there as a lot of anticipation, a lot of nervous tension and excitement. It took me two months to plan, order, buy each person’s gift. But every moment was precious.

And as the plane flew over India, I felt my heart racing. I kept checking the map in my little screen. Ok, now we are over Pakistan, ok now Ahmedabad. And now here, here is my first glimpse of Mumbai...the precious jewels scattered on the ground, lit up homes of family and friends. Heart racing still faster...Touchdown.

You know how when you wait for something that long, and something you really want so very badly, that you can feel your insides tearing and soul screaming. Like when you’re about to fall in love. And you're at that crucial moment, where you don't know if you should give in, or be your skeptical, cautious self. And then you fall, like the red carpet was pulled off, from under your feet. It felt like that. Coming home, felt like that.

When I awoke in the morning, to children screaming in the school opposite my apartment, a marriage procession on the streets, I felt like I had never left. And I was ok with never going back...

Meeting family and friends felt like swallowing sunshine, after years of cold, dreary winter. My trip has made me think a lot about relationships these days. How some blossomed, how some were beautiful while they lasted, how some were painful, full of work and effort, some you couldn't do without, how some slowly died, how some were nipped in the bud and others with the 'what if' questions, that never have answers...I wouldn't change a thing, I wouldn't change a single thing :)

Back Home

The flight back flew through Amsterdam, and I saw the sun rise over France, and then Prague, and then I saw it rise in Amsterdam...three sunrises.

There is so much more to do, so much more to see and experience. I am not done. I need to wander some more. I don't have hopes of 'finding myself' anymore. I want to lose myself. And take a diversion from the trodden path.

Home is now the view from my window. The white picket fence, and the first signs of grass, with spring waiting to be found, a light breeze blowing and the grass tops dipping their heads lightly, enjoying being pampered after long. This is the United States I had imagined I would experience. This very view, from this very window.

I can hear Dylan playing in the background as I crawl back under my cozy sheets.

The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind.