Home is a funny idea. What is it exactly? A place? A sensation? Possibly a complete narration of the mind.
When I left the country where I was born, being in unfamiliar surroundings meant rebirth over and over again. You walk through a ring of fire and arrive to the other side, blemished a tiny bit, but doused in the baptist waters of renewal.
Tackling that foreign pronunciation on your tongue, while the native food stings your taste buds. Oh, the smells! That always get me, those competing odours of a country that sometimes seem familiar but then don’t.
So coming home (again, that word) was a doorway to old, yet new discoveries for me.
I keep forgetting to wash my hands after using the restroom because with public toilets in China, there is no soap. Anywhere. Don’t panic! I do remember more often than not now.
I keep forgetting to tip, so I seem like a jerk when I don’t.
I started talking to myself out in the open the other day. It was a habit I fell into because nobody could understand me and I could get away with it in China. Not anymore, crazy bag lady.
The cure I mentioned a while ago was Via Rail Canada. Lots of people don’t know what this train trip is about.
Some people mistake it for a commuter trip or a waste of time. They’d rather take the bullet train in Japan.
A Via Rail experience is a journey. It’s slow, considered. Meditative. On top of it, the journey continually offers some of the best views of Canada.
I didn’t think it was going to be a life changing experience, but it kind of was. It was better than I expected and allowed me to acclimatize to this country I once called home and still do.