It’s two and a half months until I make the trip back across the ocean, yet. There’s weeks of road and adventure just around the corner, and I look forward to every thing. Even the terrifying bits.
I had my mother, on the phone, a fistful of nights ago. It was late here, which means it was early there, and it isn’t something we usually do. If I’m still awake, I had texted my father, can I call you when you get up? My hands, they tremble a lot these days. He texted back twenty minutes later. You still up?
Almost four months in, I miss home in a way that is new. Missing home used to be a harsh pain, something that sucker-punched the breath out of me, throat closed around a bruise. I learnt about loneliness missing home.
This time around, it is softer, the ache. It isn’t as loud, but it lingers, a faded shadow. It doesn’t hurt as much; some days I feel it more than others. It is almost sweet, the pain; a promise of the things that I will find when I come back.
I look forward to being in the same time zone as my people. To be able to call them whenever I want, instead of having to schedule calls in the morning because that is the only moment our days overlap.
That has been the hardest thing, perhaps. Going on walks and making long phone calls at the end of the day when everything takes on the color of dusk is my favorite thing. Oh, I look forward to those.
I look forward to being able to dress fancier for no other reason that I am in France and that a blazer is casual wear if I want it to be. On that note, I look forward to having access to a full wardrobe. Living out of a suitcase has been an exercise in capsuling, and while it has mostly been fun I kind of want to burn the three baseball tees I have been wearing on rotation.
I look forward to having my guitar again. I didn’t think I would miss her as I do, but most days I find myself itching for her. There is going to be much music-making this summer.
I look forward to sleeping with a cat at the edge of my bed, and being able to walk everywhere, and to finally ditching my winter coat which I am still wearing around. To sitting across the table from my friends rather than only hearing their voice through interposed audio messages. To cheaper cheese, but that’s just because I am being cliché.
And, while I wouldn’t trade it for the world, this now, this life on another continent and the weeks to come, I know that I will also be glad to come home.
(How lucky that I have a home to come back to).