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2003-09-14 @ Midnight : >>
The Place I Call Home
Brighton. England's happy seaside town.
Punch and Judy shows on the pebble beach. The fairground at the end of the pier. Ice cream. Candy-floss (that translates as cotton-candy in American in case anyone's wondering). The old-fashioned carousel.
Isn't it just so incredibly pretty? (Well, of course, I am biased).
I had forgotten what it was like to be homesick. To feel a nostalgic longing for a place.
I had honestly, honestly, until some days ago, forgotten that this phenomenon even existed. That I felt just the same when I first moved to Connecticut exactly three years ago now.
All I have been remembering for the past three years about that experience is the good times that came much later on. It is amazing how memory distorts things.
(Well, I knew of course that homesickness does exist and that I might well feel it, but not that it was quite like this).
I believe that memory distortions also exist in the ways in which we overglamorize to ourselves the place that we call home.
In my mind right now, the sun shines in Brighton all day everyday. Everyone is happy all the time and there are never things like deadlines and exams to worry about. Most days are spent eating candy-floss in a striped deckchair and having lucky streaks on the penny-falls.
And then of course there is the fact that the town possesses 30 nightclubs, all within walking distance of each other. I seem to be remembering my time there now in terms of just a handful of good drunken nights out. I am forgetting that not all of the 30 are even remotely good nightclubs.
Reality: This is a myth. Wherever you go, wherever you are, there are good days and there are bad days. There's no escaping that.
The Place I Call Home
Brighton. England's happy seaside town.
Punch and Judy shows on the pebble beach. The fairground at the end of the pier. Ice cream. Candy-floss (that translates as cotton-candy in American in case anyone's wondering). The old-fashioned carousel.
Isn't it just so incredibly pretty? (Well, of course, I am biased).
I had forgotten what it was like to be homesick. To feel a nostalgic longing for a place.
I had honestly, honestly, until some days ago, forgotten that this phenomenon even existed. That I felt just the same when I first moved to Connecticut exactly three years ago now.
All I have been remembering for the past three years about that experience is the good times that came much later on. It is amazing how memory distorts things.
(Well, I knew of course that homesickness does exist and that I might well feel it, but not that it was quite like this).
I believe that memory distortions also exist in the ways in which we overglamorize to ourselves the place that we call home.
In my mind right now, the sun shines in Brighton all day everyday. Everyone is happy all the time and there are never things like deadlines and exams to worry about. Most days are spent eating candy-floss in a striped deckchair and having lucky streaks on the penny-falls.
And then of course there is the fact that the town possesses 30 nightclubs, all within walking distance of each other. I seem to be remembering my time there now in terms of just a handful of good drunken nights out. I am forgetting that not all of the 30 are even remotely good nightclubs.
Reality: This is a myth. Wherever you go, wherever you are, there are good days and there are bad days. There's no escaping that.