Homesickness

I miss my couch. I miss sinking into its fluffy red cushions, gripping the remote control with one hand and patting my sleeping puppy’s head with the other. My mom is making a smoothie in the kitchen behind me, filling the blender with all her immunity-boosting secret ingredients. The TV has what seems to be an unlimited amount of English channels, and I flip through them mindlessly as I enjoy the last few spoonfuls of my granola and yogurt breakfast. All I have to do today is take Sam for a walk in Rockwood, and I can’t wait to inhale the smog-less summer breeze fresh off the Hudson River. 

I miss the streets of Pleasantville. I miss driving in my car with the windows down, music blasting through the speakers. I see the familiar faces of my friends’ parents walking to the farmers market on Sunday morning. I wave and smile for a brief second, and then the traffic light ignites in the green circle, indicating my turn to pass through the busy intersection. My foot presses into the pedal, and the breeze takes my hair from the sides of my face and wisps it behind my shoulders. 

I miss my routine. I miss waking up in the morning, taking a warm shower and picking out an outfit for work. I choose the one decent-fitting pair of black business pants and retrieve a light pink, ruffled Express shirt from my closet. I pour my coffee into a to-go jug and rummage through the key basket for the pair that fits my 1999 Mitsubishi Montero SUV. Will that car ever break down? I knock on wood as it jolts backwards out of the garage. Fortunately, the car takes me safely to and from my job, and I return home a little after 6 feeling productive and accomplished. 

When I look out my bedroom window, I see the Saw Mill River Parkway dotted with moving cars. The green mountainside has vanished and a concrete river has taken its place. The street vendors have manifested into established buildings, and the stray dogs have been leashed by morning joggers. The placid and colloquial smiles of the locals have gotten lost in muted, hasty conversation with the faces of wristwatches as they scurry towards the arriving Metro North. 

It’s a different life here, for sure. There are things I miss, and there are things I will miss. 

It’s been over three months now, and the inevitable thoughts of the comfort and familiarity of home have crept into my mind. At times, they tease me with brief interludes from my current life here in Chiang Mai. The pile of white rice on my plate looks up and winks at me as it transforms into a bowl of my Mom’s spaghetti and meatballs. I drop my fork and sigh, reviewing the distance of time between now and my flight back to New York. 

But when I turn back to my meal, the stir-fried morning glory beside the rice is stretching its fists into the air. It inhales deeply, then relaxes back onto the plate between some Thai chilies, and a rejuvenating smile spreads across its face. It’s contagious. And suddenly I’m smiling too.

The other night I talked to my sister. I updated her on all the amazing things I’ve been doing here between traveling and classes and meeting people. But I also confessed the distracting battle of homesickness I’ve begun to fight with time. “It’s probably just a mood,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll snap out of it.”

“Yeah that’s true. We’re always living anxious for the future. And then it comes. And we are anxious again about the future.” 

I think there was more logic to Jaime’s response than to my “it’s just a mood” reasoning. And suddenly, I began to think differently. I only have one month left. Where did the time go? Suddenly, I want to hold on to every moment because soon my plate of spaghetti and meatballs will wink at me and warp into the savory stir-fried morning glory from Penny’s Restaurant on Soi Jet. 

But I won’t be walking down Soi Jet to Penny’s restaurant. I will be watching TV on the couch in my living room. 

And right now, I am sitting at my desk in my little apartment in Uniloft. Sophie is in the living room, laughing at some scene from “This Means War” playing on the TV. My Angkor Wat painting is mounted on the wall above me, and to its right is the dried out rose I got one night at Zoe in Yellow. The wrapper of my sticky-rice burger from 711 is making my room smell like onions. I should probably throw that away.

I hear and think a lot about what it means to "be present." But truly living that way is harder than it seems. I'm only being present when my thoughts align with where I am and what I am doing this moment. And I know that when this moment passes, and the future comes, I will miss this point in my life like crazy. I'll start to look back, and once again disconnect from the present.

The point is that this is where I am now. And that’s all we have. Now. I can waste my thoughts on the past or the future, but I exist in neither. 

I am only living in the now, so now is the time to be alive. And I guess I needed to lose a few battles of homesickness for it to kick my butt with that very little but very important reminder.