It dawned on me the other while thinking about NYC, that even though it’s almost been two years since I moved to Chicago, a part of me still thinks this is temporary, and I have this unconscious sensation that any minute now this phase of being here will be over, and I will get to go home again.
Isn’t it interesting how in an instant, without even looking for it, an answer dawns on you, in a blink of eye? Just like that I get it, just like that I understand why I don’t really feel like I fit in. In my mind, deep down, locked up somewhere, I think this is temporary, and eventually I will get to go home again. My Chicago stay is nice while it lasts because in my mind it has an expiration date. This too shall pass, and I will go back home when it’s right.
Chicago doesn’t feel like home to me. Sure, everything I own is here, but it’s like I’m not here yet, not 100%. I mean, I’m here, I work here, live here, love here, and am surrounded by all my stuff. But I see a picture of my old apartment on 93rd and 1st in the UES and think, “that’s home!” Why? Why doesn’t this feel like home to me even if it’s been almost 2 years already?
Mike says I need a girlfriend. And he might just be right. I don’t have friends here. Every time I face-time with my family, I feel better. I feel they are still “there”, wherever there might be, and it’s alright. I’m alright. Being here is alright. But is it?
Do you feel like where you live is home? Do you feel like you belong? Or are you longing for home in another place, or another time? I wonder if it’s just me. I wonder if I’m just melancholic that way.