They say you can never go home again.

They say that, and I am one of those who believes it.

I have found that I have a confirmed case of Expatismus Encephalitis-now that I have left the country, now that I fit into that queasy bracketed lay-term "expat", I don't fit anymore. Now that I have been outside of the US borders for 5 years (next month), I'm like a square peg that doesn't fit into a round hole, and no amount of bashing me with the little wooden Playskool hammer will get me back in the tray.

It's as though, upon leaving the country you came from, the Border Guards take away your rose-colored glasses and smash them beneath their heel, forcing you to forever have to face looking around the world in the shapes, sizes and colors that things may actually come in. Once upon a time, I was the biggest idealist in the world-you could actually make millions of dollars overnight in the US. The streets, while maybe not paved with gold, were certainly paved in the sparkliest type of concrete that was available. I thought dreams could be plucked from the air and made true with a little elbow grease and fairy dust.

I was so innocent. I grew up on military bases, where we didn't even bother locking our doors...even when we went on holiday. I had thought racial injustice went out with the 60's and was over once Rosa Parks got up from her seat on the bus. I thought anyone who wanted to come to America could, and were welcomed with open arms and had help making massive successes of themselves. I thought that the elderly were cared for, health care was free and widely available (it was free to us in the military, after all, so my basis was that it must be free for everyone) and that my country was the country of dreams.

That all changed the second I stepped off of those Air Force Bases and saw the real world.

When we landed in the US, once again I had this feeling...I've been here. I sort of know what's here, I sort of know how things are done...but something isn't right.

I felt it for ages. A certain twitch of "What's-the-matter-itis?" a furrow in the back of a mental brow that begged to be itched. When we walked off the plane, settled our bags in the faceless, soulless, appetiteless United Red Carpet lounge, I lay stretched out on an armchair and tried to figure out what I was feeling.

Around me were businessmen with their laptops plugged into neighboring phones, busily hammering out emails on urgent-looking Outlook drafts, all of the apostrophes dipped into them screaming "This mail is important, notice me!" winging out to assault other email inboxes the world over. They importantly flipped open their mobile phones and banged their way through phone conversations. I've been you, Buddy. I think to myself. I've been my job, and my job has used me and didn't even leave me a $20 on the dresser.

And it just continued until I realized what was wrong.

I hadn't felt like I had come home, just as on previous visits to the US, I hadn't felt I had come home.

Granted, a lounge in an airport, Washington D.C., and Miami have never been my homes.

All around me, I simply felt as if I was another traveller in another lounge in another airport-while I knew the language, while I knew how things worked, no part of me felt relieved, felt a sigh of comfort. It just was.

Had I really become such an orphan?

When we got to Miami and had showered and changed, that's when the world started to make more sense-and in a true salute to capitalism, it started making sense with products. Things I'd missed and once I saw them, I enjoyed them. Sun Chips. Hawaiian Fruit Punch in a can. "Built Ford Tough". Boston Market. Old Navy.

The US may not be paved with gold, but it is paved with options. So many options in so many directions that it's always possible to switch lanes. The options range from location, career, to the minute like food and drink.

Over breakfast one morning Angus ordered "The American." The waitress grinned.

"How do you like your American, sir?"

"Tall and brunette!" I interjected.

"What kind of eggs?" she asked him.

"Fried." he replied.

"Sunny side up, over easy, over medium, or hard?"

He looked at me. "Over medium." I answered.

"Sausage, bacon or ham?"

"Sausage."

"Toast or bagel."

"Bagel." he said wearily.

"What type of juice? Orange, pineapple, orange, tomato, or grapefruit?"

"Orange."

"What type of coffee? We have-"

"I just want some breakfast." Angus moaned, burying his head in his hands.

We have so many options. So many examples of choices that we can make, as Americans. From something even as mundane as breakfast.

Americans are also hyper-friendly. One thing that Angus and I have noticed is that Americans, the world over, will always ask other Americans where they are from. Always. You can be up to your neck in mud in the jungles of Belize, and you will hear:

"So, where are you from?"

"I'm from Philly."

"No kidding! I'm from Boise, but I have a cousin in Philly. South side!"

"Really? That's where my uncle lives!"

I think it's because America is a big damn country, and full of people that have moved around a bit, who like to talk about home.

We got it a lot-the where are you from. And hearing the accent in my voice, "England" didn't suffice, I was generally pressed for more info on really where was I from, in which case I resort to saying "Dallas", since that's where I spent the most time.

Americans like to ask questions, and they like to talk. And maybe it's because I have spent too much time in the "keep-it-to-yourself" commercial land of Sweden (you're lucky if sales stuff just don't chuck the goods at you, let alone talk), but it always takes me off-balance when the sales staff are so friendly and chatty. But I like it when they are.

On the diving boat, one of the couples we were with were from Atlanta. And very chatty. And she gave me the run-down on her life within the first five minutes-I mean, I heard a lot. Second marriages, job crises, children, commutes...I heard about it. She finally ended the chat and turned to Angus.

"An Englishman, huh? Bet it's weird for him to be married to an American!"

"Oh we're not married," I said, adjusting my baseball cap.

She stared at me and-I swear-moved away a fraction of an inch. "Really?"

"Nope." I replied cheerfully. "Marriage isn't really that big a deal in Europe anymore. Not as many people get married, they just co-habitate. Which is what we are doing."

She looks at me. I wonder if this is where I should sing my classical rendition of "I'm a Little Heathen" to the tune of "I'm a Little Teapot".

We got chatted to everywhere we went, perhaps because I am so bouncy and all over the place, perhaps because Angus is so cute and has such a lovely English accent, or perhaps that's just what Americans do.

When we left, I didn't feel a twinge of sadness or loss, other than the fact that I could've used more time on holiday. I honestly enjoy going to the US to visit and would very much like to make it a once-yearly trip at least, but I can honestly say that it doesn't really make me sink my feet into the ground and say, with a delicate whimper, "Thank God I'm home." (well, until I turn the TV on at least. I still love of the TV.)

But I don't sink my feet into the English soil and sigh with relief either. I do have to say though-I feel like I am relatively at home here, and I do honestly love living here. I do want to stay here. I see the good and bad about England, but then I see the good and the bad about America. I love both countries, but for different reasons. Strangely, I feel like a child to both countries, while at the same time a child of neither. Maybe calling myself an "orphan" is a bit harsh...what I really am is someone who hasn't found what I want to call myself.

So I'll just call myself Helen, and love both countries anyway.

I reject the theory that we can be a Citoyens Du Monde...but I accept that sometimes, if we just don't fit into that round hole, we can pick ourselves up and try to figure out where we do fit in.

-H.

PS-we've had one of the Tabby Bombs in the house a great deal-ironically, it's the really shy reserved one we've had, the one who doesn't much like to be pet. Now she does. It's strange-we asked her owners where her sister is, the one who is outrageously friendly and flirty. Turns out, the other Tabby Bomb passed away last week, apparently the victim of a poisoning.

It broke our hearts, and now her surviving sister has an open-door policy in our house. Always.

PPS-I have joined this, as an effort to kick myself and get some writing done. Wish me luck...

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 09:26 AM | Comments (16) | Add Comment
Post contains 1589 words, total size 9 kb.

1 I know what you mean about the chatty american thing helen. I didn't realize i was one till I got to London, I've been here 5 days (staying 7), and almost NO ONE has talked to us. The underground is silent. In fact, the only people that HAVE approached us or chatted us up in a pub have been from elsewhere (austrailia, greece, germany). I'm learning to be a bit less chatty, but it feels akward.

Posted by: liz at October 26, 2004 01:09 PM (WuALc)

2 The really funny part is that within the US the degree of chattiness varies. The further south you go, the chattier they get. Conversely, the also talk slower the further south you go. Hmmm...maybe southerners just seem chattier because they're talking slower...I'll have to think about this.

Posted by: Easy at October 26, 2004 01:20 PM (U89mk)

3 Oh, you think we can't fit the square peg back into the round hole? Give ol' Solomon and the US a big enough hammer, and we'll have you lodged permanently (maybe not comfortably in that round hole The disconnect you have sounds more like it's with the business world than the US. Your priorities have shifted from professional to inter-personal. That's a good shift, especially when one has children. A job is just a job, but how we connect with those around us determines how successful we really are.

Posted by: Solomon at October 26, 2004 02:29 PM (k1sTy)

4 Welcome Back Helen (hmmm, I have to think about that one). All I can say is that I wish I were in England right now so that I can make all the Talking Heads go away. The politics is driving me bonkers...I can't escape the chattiness of my co-workers. Only one more week and then we'll have a winner and a loser.

Posted by: Marie at October 26, 2004 02:58 PM (PQxWr)

5 Good Luck Helen

Posted by: Jadewolff at October 26, 2004 03:34 PM (8MfYL)

6 aww, poor tabby bomb. that breaks my heart. your kitties are coming soon yes?

Posted by: kat at October 26, 2004 05:26 PM (QkuGS)

7 Being in a similar situation. Although I'm not out of the country. I am across the country from my "home" and have been for 17 years now. The only thing I can say is home is where you hang your hat. Where your comfortable. Where the people who love you is. Good luck with the Novel writting. Much admiration. I have a hard enough time writting my blog!

Posted by: Tiffani at October 26, 2004 06:26 PM (xpNFK)

8 Good luck with the NaNoWriMo!

Posted by: Sue at October 26, 2004 07:29 PM (6krEN)

9 Ok, I have to say this before I finish reading your post. I moved from New England a little over five years ago to California, and I feel the same way lol. It's like living in a whole different Country. When I go home to visit. I am sure it would be even more so if I moved out of the States.

Posted by: justme at October 26, 2004 08:05 PM (zdtiB)

10 Were you ever stationed at Loring? That's the area where I live. Glad you had a good trip, and have apparently recuperated. Lots'a luck with the move!

Posted by: brj at October 26, 2004 11:40 PM (AeQLy)

11 Glad you are back! And yes... America has soo many choices. Even though we share a common language with the Brits, it's so amazing the difference in the two cultures.

Posted by: Snidget at October 26, 2004 11:58 PM (votP0)

12 You're not an orphan, you just see your countries as an outsider would. My friend (American) whose co-habiting for the first time in her life (Mexican) and I just had this conversation today. She pointed out how a foreigner sees our country from the outside. And we're so blind living here. My best friend from high school, an ex-pat in the Netherlands for nearly 20 years, said the same thing to me years ago. So, no longer living here, but having not grown up there, you have very open eyes about both. I envy that.

Posted by: kalisah at October 27, 2004 03:34 AM (rU32B)

13 Home is whereever you make it, not just where you are from or are going to. It certainly doesn't hurt for anyone to have a wider view of the world, which clearly you have from your life and experiences. It makes you a far more interesting and informed person.

Posted by: Simon at October 27, 2004 06:32 AM (FUPxT)

14 wow, your the second blogger I read that has entered NaNoWriMo. And she´s also good. Will have to pay attention to the results ;-). Miguel.

Posted by: msd at October 27, 2004 11:52 AM (hGo1X)

15 That makes me soooo sad to hear about the tabby!

Posted by: emily at October 28, 2004 06:01 PM (plXME)

16 Seeing your (former for you) home country from the outside is quite an experience. I lived in Japan for a while. Each time I came home (to the US), it was the people I came home to, not this crazy country. The last time I left, I had stayed long enough so that Japan felt like home too. Been back 7+ years now, but have a yearning to return to my second home.

Posted by: Sarah at October 30, 2004 08:39 PM (4Hsr6)

Hide Comments | Add Comment