Thoughts of home

I suffer from angst when it comes to home. Do you? On one hand, I miss it. On the other, I'm glad I'm not there anymore. Yet sometimes, I'm dying to be there, to be in a place where everything is deep-down-in-my-bones familiar. But then I dread being reminded of all the reasons I wanted to leave. It's classic grass is greener syndrome. But it's amplified because home isn't simply a imaginary ideal. It's a memory. It's family. It's the motherland.

With my trip home fast approaching, I'm starting to have disruptive dreams. I've moved house so often, that my subconscious likes to cobble together different combinations of places and people and events and loves. I wake up disoriented. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night expecting to be in a different bedroom from a different time. One time, I even drowsily walked into the wall expecting there to be a door.

I'm so happy in Toronto that I somewhat fear going home; that the trip might highlight the arbitrariness of my being here, when looked at superficially. That I might see familiar faces and streets and feel a rush of something that I'm not equipped to deal with. It won't be regret, I know that. Maybe sadness of a sort. Whatever it is, it might lead to confusion. The feeling I dread is pretty well captured in this poem.

It's taken me a long time to feel so certain about where I am and what I'm doing and all the things I define myself by. And I dread the uncanny ability home sometimes has of throwing all that for a loop. Do you ever feel this way about home and family and where you're from?
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