Whenever Brits ask me where I am from, and in Taiwan they always do, I say ‘London’; not because it’s true, but because it is easier to say than the truth. The truth is that I spent some of my formative years in a picturesque farmhouse of a quaint British village in the Midlands, riding horses and surrounded by wonderful animal shit all day (I am not being sarcastic), but I don’t feel like it is my home because I hardly ever go back there. I went to school in a nondescript London overflow-town comprehensive, but I dont consider it to be home because it was just a period of time between moves (albeit quite a long one). After that I rented rooms in various places, including london; none of which I would call home. I am painfully aware that I am conforming to a horrible English-teacher stereotype, but I think I really don’t have any place I could say is my home. Home to me, these days, is just people. At the moment, home is a town in Essex because it’s where my mother is and where I know people, and Bristol is also home, even though I have only been there about once, because my sister lives there. But Taiwan is my home too because *I* live there. Here, I mean.
I have mixed feelings about going home, which I will do in a couple of weeks. It is a visit to see people. I will see my mother, my sister and my aunty Elaine. I will check up on some old friends, buy something from Tesco, eat greasy breakfasts and sleep in late. But it’s England that is bothering me. Last time we spoke was in anger and I cursed her and what she had become as my flight left Heathrow two-and-a-half years ago. I can’t forgive her, this contortion, but I will agree to a temporary ceasefire for the sake of ‘home-anity’ (hey, not bad! I forgive you for the next sentence…..ed) . I will swallow my contempt for this nanny-state, surveillance-ridden, postempiricist, exorbitantly overpriced, overnutritioned, and overbadweathered island of congenital stoops, and simply enjoy the company of family and friends. Because thats all home is. Remember that, my children, and thou will be fine.
Talking of home, I finished my move this weekend. There are advantages and disadvantages; one big disadvantage is that, although both old and new apartments are exactly the same size in terms of ‘ping’ and physical space, my new place is only 1-bedroomed (although it has plenty of space for a spare bed) instead of 2 and-a-half in the old place. Of course, this is also an advantage because the lounge is huge and has doors onto the balcony that are as big as two tall people lying down on the floor toe-to-toe. Actually, from now on there are only advantages; no crazy xenophobic neighbour (in fact, no neighbout at all -it is empty for the moment), and its only 5,000nt per month (about 75 quid I think).
2 Comments
April 18, 2007 at 10:11 am
Yes, home is wherever I happen to be living at the moment and is constantly changing. The wandering gypsies… And I am discovering upon my re-entry to the Western world, that there are no decent places left to make a home, unless you are a multi-millionaire, like trailer parks, or don’t mind living in an igloo.
Happy travels to the UK! I always love going back knowing that it is only a visit. It makes you appreciate the things you do miss and appreciate where you live now, mad traffic and all! xx
May 25, 2007 at 11:00 pm
It’s the same back home. I talked to people and they all said the same as you about buying houses and the rest of it. As I was freezing my nuts off.