Homesick, but not for Home

The worst feeling I find is feeling homesick for a place that isn’t where you live. In my short, but fulfilling l have gotten the opportunity to travel quite a bit and I find that there’s a certain… cycle with my emotions that I have noticed throughout all my travels.

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The night before is always the most exciting night of the trip. I lay in bed, waiting, tingling. I can’t sleep because I’m too excited for the adventure that awaits me in somewhere new and foreign. No matter how much I try, my eyes can’t seem to close for long enough, the house tick by from 10 pm to 3 am, and I finally shut my eyes for perhaps a split second before my mom’s waking me up to go.

The ride there is always excruciatingly long, whether it be by boat, by plane, by car, or train, it’s all the same. Quiet and dull and boring and long. Sitting in one place for too long just isn’t for me, it’s a wonder how I get by at school. Trying to sleep in a vehicle is absolutely a no go, because falling asleep means when I reach my destination I’m going to be groggy and cranky with a crick in my neck, so I end up with my eyes glued to the scenery around me.

Arriving to the destination is always disappointing because I never truly get the jist that I’m there. I always expect something… more…something exciting, but it just feels like I’m walking in a hotel that perhaps looks slightly different than the other dozens I’ve been to. It’s not until the “we finally checked in” nap that the experience really gets fun.

Exploring, even with my parents dragging me down, has always been the best part of traveling. I don’t mind walking, walking is engaging, it’s fun, it’s my favorite. Walking running, all over cities, forests, beaching, you name it. There’s just a certain sensation to it all, it makes me feel alive. I love seeing the sights of the people doing their own thing, walking down the street, passing me. The glittering lights, the smell, the atmosphere…it’s so… different. It’s exciting, it’s new, it’s… home. Even just spending one week in a city can make it feel so special to me.

I remember walking around New York and I couldn’t get enough of the sights, after a couple days I think I truly felt like a New Yorker. I explored every inch and alley that the city offered to me and feeling the humid, sticky air on my skin felt… disgusting, but homey. Running around the streets of Toronto, though less crowded than New York, made me feel as if I’d lived in Canada my whole life, even jumping a fence to get into a Farm I didn’t belong in, as if it was second nature to me.

Something about traveling opens a new layer to me that I just love and enjoy to no end.

I know the worst part about traveling is leaving because, though I’m rather relieved to go home, the return trip is always sad somehow. There’s always the feeling of regret that I didn’t do enough things, that I didn’t see this, or I should’ve done that… and just… I feel empty almost. As if I left a part of myself behind.

Perhaps I give myself away too easily, that… I get too attached to a place I don’t even know… But it’s times I see little things like… a picture of the washington monument that I just sigh and say… ahhh… I miss Washington DC so much… and I go into a state of reminiscing about the past and those places that are now long gone from me.
It’s a weird feeling really… being homesick for a place that you don’t call home… it’s like… a part of you is missing, though that part wasn’t really there to begin with. Sure there’s the memories that linger and the feelings that never truly go away, but… There’s nothing that can truly replace the breathless feeling of being in the middle of nowhere with trees surrounding you on all sides and knowing what true peace is such as parts of Yosemite, or looking over a cliff and knowing that the red rock stretches for miles like at the Grand Canyon… Just… there’s a feeling that… each place you visit…. you leave a piece of your heart there… and one day you gotta go back for it because… you miss it.

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