Second of all, I will try to squeeze in a post regarding last semester's adventures, but I will try to focus on what's going on now. I will try to the best of my abilities to make write more often, but that is, as all things are, subject to change.
Third of all, this post takes place on a plane headed from JFK to Paris. I had been dying to write for so long on that plane, so I took out my laptop and started writing my next Traveling 'Nole post.
This is that post...
Saturday, January 9th, 2015
During the last few days of my
visit in my hometown of Los Angeles, I was once again stupefied and slightly
angered at how fast the time had gone (though it should come as no surprise
that a mere 28 days would come and go a lot faster than 4 months abroad). While
time had accelerated at unprecedented pace, I think what has bothered me the
most is that saying “see yah later” a second time seemed significantly harder
than the first time. I couldn’t place my finger on the reason as to why this
was the case. Most people said that it was the 8 months ahead that separated
the next time we would see each other. Of course, this makes perfect sense. But
even so, I felt that something more was the cause for such an agonizing second
goodbye.
The answer didn’t come to me until
we were parked in a parking garage at LAX airport. It jumped at me in a way
that contrasted my still, uneager motion sitting in the car. The reason as to
why this goodbye––this seemingly familiar goodbye–– was even harder to do a
second time is because we are returning to normalcy. This time, there is no
adrenaline of going to a brand new place. The understandable (albeit, selfish)
eagerness to start a new life was reserved for that very first time; yes, the
“see you later’s” were still sad, but we had a new life waiting for us on the
end of our long journey’s for home. Now, we return to a life that we’ve already
started. There’s not much new to distract us, save for a few new faces coming
in from Tally.
The sad truth is that we are now
“visitors” in our own homes. Of course, we will (or at least, we should) always be welcomed in our homes.
But our hometowns are now tokens of the past. The rooms we grew up in will
always be our rooms, but at the same
time, those have moved on like us: it isn’t just our room anymore. While I was home, my parents would always correct
me when I casually (though absent mindfully) referred to Valencia as “home:”
“You are home,” they would tell me.
And they’re absolutely right. I am
home. Only now, I visit that home on holidays after the semester is over. I was
not wrong either. I have accepted Valencia, Spain as a home away from home; it
is still home nonetheless. Perhaps it
is this shift in normalcy that makes this goodbye so hard: the realization and
affirmation that comfort has shifted. Maybe it is the length of time that will be
gone. It could be that growing up and living life as an adult is becoming all
too real. No matter what it is, please, do not misunderstand me. I am beyond
excited to return to Valencia. To my FSU family, who have helped make the
transition so much easier. To the town that bears the origin of my family name
(oh yeah, the name Camacho originates
in Valencia… so there’s that). To the land of stones left unturned, the
cobblestone streets of Europe. To a life, while still so extraordinary, has
become as ordinary as saying, “I am going home.”
‘Til Our Roads Meet,
Christian Camacho
The
Traveling Nole
Beautifully written! :)
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