You are my home
You make me strong
And in this world of strangers
I belong to someone…
It’s strange how positions reverse. Once, not so very long ago, I lived in Victoria and vacationed elsewhere, or worked elsewhere. Now I live elsewhere, and for lack of a better word, vacation at home. Everyone near and dear to me is in Victoria, all my ties (and there aren’t many) are there – but the details of the city itself are starting to fade ever so slightly from my mind’s eye. I don’t always remember what street leads where, or whether or not they light up the parliament buildings right when it gets dark or just before. I see the place in flashes, like I was looking at a series of postcards.
The more I go back, the more I feel like I’m visiting.
I suppose the price you pay for never having your wings clipped is that you end up not really ‘belonging’ anywhere…
Home is made for coming from, for dreams of going to…
And yet…
Today is the half-way point of the cruise, as of today we have less time left out here than we have behind us. As the days march on in this seemingly endless contract, I miss home. Not the place itself so much, but the things it represents.
I miss perching in a tree on the beach across from my house, peering out through the branches at the sparkle of the water that for once isn’t carrying me away. I miss dipping my feet in the ocean and feeling my system adjust to the painful cold of the western Pacific. You can only wade in the shallows near my home town if you were born there and are used to the chill, otherwise the shooting pains that dart up your shins will send you scampering for shore before you can blink. I miss climbing Anderson Hill with a picnic basket and sitting there in the sunshine, chatting about nothing and watching people play with their dogs.
I miss the bar that might not even be there when I return, since it’s always on the verge of shutting down. I miss turning the corner to head to the main doors only to find myself plowed over by the bartender as she nearly squeezes the life out of me. One day I’ll change my drink, just to mess with her head. I miss losing at pool (and yes, I always lose).
I have an amazing, incredible life; I see amazing things and go breathtaking places. But 8 months on in this world of tall ship sails, Great Walls, Indian Saris and Mardis Gras floats – where you don’t even think twice about saying something like ‘oh right, we’re in Hong Kong next week, I’ll have to remember to pick up a dress at the Night Market’ or ‘damn, I can’t make the Komodo tour this year, it’ll have to wait till next season’…I’m starting to feel the wear. I’m starting to look more eagerly towards the end of the mini-calendar that’s on my cabin wall, the one that stops with April 28th.
There are times when I would trade a great deal of the amazing things I’m likely to see in the next two months, for a few hours of walking arm in arm down along the inner harbor with someone care about, with the scent of cherry blossoms hanging in the air.
For once, with the excitement of the World Cruise lapping at my ankles and the promise of the future sprawled out in front of me like a checkerboard…this particular gypsy just wants to touch the green ,green grass of home…