Somewhere out there, far far away from here, I am married with a husband and a cat and houseplants. I drive to work in ridiculous traffic everyday and complain about things like lack of natural light. It's hot and we (this husband and I) debate things like whether to have the air conditioning on and how thick a duvet is really necessary in July.
But right now, I'm not there, I am here - England - for 36 more precious hours I am back in the homeland. Where it rains, a lot. And where I don't have to repeat myself a thousand times (except I'm still unnaturally quiet so sometimes I have to repeat myself a few times). But when I'm here, rather than there, 'There' adopts a quality of unfathomability. How is it possible that I have this other American life, separate to these people here, where drizzle isn't particularly usual?
And yet there are signs of this other life. Apart from the tug of missing towards my 'husband' and 'cat', which I can feel I have and love, despite the fogginess of unreality. I don't have a coat, for one thing - that's right, this Englander managed to pack for a week in England without packing a coat - a sure sign that the other world has some sort of hold over me. And I haven't once managed to try and get in the right side of the car - I get confused every time. And I think I may have finally learnt which way to look when I cross the road in the US because I definitely got it wrong here.
But oh, England, I love you so. Despite the ridiculous amount of rain you are capable of precipitating. Your accents and sense of humour. The fact of clothes stores selling all-in-one pajamas adjacent to bikinis and pubs that still have things like 'prawn cocktail' on the menu for my grandparents to order. Your buildings made of stone and your roads with actual visible painted lines and lanes on them. Your interesting flavours of crisps (which is the only way I'll be eating anything called prawn cocktail btw). And of course my family, who are entirely English and entirely enmeshed with everything I am.
I find these trips confusing. Not because of how strange and culture-shock-y it is, but because of how normal and comfortable. How familiar. Even as Jeremy and Kitty and Sunshine draw me 'home', this other Home remains. Damp and lushly green and absolutely mine. Fogging up reality and reminding me that I'll always belong here. Bugger.
