I haven’t been home in two years. Haven’t seen my brothers or my best friend. Haven’t had a real apple pie or tasted my grandmother’s cooking. Two years.
TWO.
EFFING.
YEARS.
Part of me doesn’t understand how that happened. I am not that person. But, here I am, and it’s been two and half years since I’ve lived in the United States. Two years since I’ve been home at all. I had no idea that when I came here it would be so permanent. But once you arrive in New Zealand, it’s like an entirely different planet. It’s my love/hate relationship with this country… The fact that it exists in its own little bubble separates it from the rest of the world. World news doesn’t matter. Movies, foods, fads, are all decades behind. But, of course, if it weren’t for this isolation it wouldn’t be the spectacular, charming, awe-inspiring country that it is.
Which is why I’m torn about going home. I won’t be here forever. And as my time winds down, my visa runs low and my homesickness gets ever greater, I wonder what being American really means.
When I first moved abroad I couldn’t wait to get out of the States, but I also couldn’t stand how much negativity we got as a people and as a country. While the rest of the world doesn’t hate us as much as Americans think they hate us (read this post), there definitely isn’t a sweeping positive feel-good vibe about the Great US of A.
How is it possible that I feel so homesick and so sick about returning home? Is the States even my home anymore? What is it even like?
The longer I live away, the more I realize how easy it is to hate on America. I’ve based my entire knowledge of Americans on four things in the past two years:
- Foreign news reports
- Popular culture that makes it’s way over here (movies, bad TV shows that happen to get international syndication, and celebrities famous for nothing i.e. Kim Kardashian and Justin Bieber)
- American tourists
- Facebook status updates from people I haven’t seen since high school
These four things have made me think of Americans as:
- Violent
- Shallow materialists with an odd sense of humor
- Loud idiots with no sense of direction
- Obsessively crazed about politics and either very strongly conservative or very strongly liberal
How can I have possibly forgotten what Americans are actually like? How can I possibly have let non-Americans so fully influence my opinions of Americans? And why am I so suddenly terrified about a simple Christmas visit?
Because, if anything, Christmas is when there is nowhere else I’d rather be. I want the white lights and the snow and the New York City trees. I want the big family dinners and the eggnog and the Frank Sinatra Christmas carols. No way in hell I can do another BBQ Christmas with carols from the 1980s, Santas wearing Bermuda shorts and garish lights on palm trees.
But here I am, two years since leaving home, and completely unaware of where home actually.
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