Wrote these lines for my brother over the summer. They seem more prescient now:
“I heard a rumor that home is where the heart is
and I don’t know where it started but I know that I’ve departed form it.
Now is it true or am I just born to wander?
‘Cause I know it’s just the summer but these times away are getting longer.”
Been thinking about home a lot — after my first trip “home” to the states in 7 months, and the ensuing trip back to Oxford. Strange the things you associate with home:
People. Family. Streets.
Or tea. Cookies. Clouds.
Strange how you can go back, and realize how few of the things you remember are still there. Especially the people. I was constantly surprised by how few people I knew at home — and how much the people I recognized had changed.
Makes me appreciate family.
Equally shocking to come back here, after 5 weeks of travel (Sheffield, Northern Ireland, Ireland, Durham [UK], D.C., and Philly) and realize how genuinely interested people were in me.
Or rather, how genuinely capable of being interested in me people are. Which is not to say that people at home don’t care. It’s more a comment on how much this Oxford place has sunk into me.
How academic I’ve become in my interests. How much Oxford has changed the way I talk, or the things I talk about.
That was the startling realization of going back — that maybe home is a place capable of interacting with me.