All that leaving-on-a-jetplane nonsense in my head — I know when I’ll be back again.  Mostly, I’m looking forward to being my homeself at home.  I’m parsing out my different selves based on the different places I’ve called home in decades past.  My friend sends me a text this morning, something about being a stranger in a familiar world.

As a person born in exile, the notion of country of one’s birth has never meant much to me, even though I get the idea of clinging to the country of one’s identity and there’s no where that informs my sense of who I am than that country from which my parents were exiled when I was born.  It’s been a long time and I’ve lived in many places. No place has housed my sense of self the way I remember.  I’ve become many selves, all contributing to a complicated person. Let this be a starting point from which I look homeward.  Here we go!