I'm in another of those in-between stages of life. It feels like I've been in a holding pattern for the last 10 years, maybe more. The first adventure in Lebanon, not sure how long it would last, deciding it would be my last year, then meeting a boy and the rest, as they say, is history. Another four years, then it was off to Turkey. Finding an apartment, renewing my residence permit every six months, every week something new whether it was language classes or visiting another city or exploring an old palace. I came back to one of my many "homes" last month, expecting to be here about a month or so. That month has stretched into almost two and the end is not anywhere in sight yet. I miss my husband; I'm happy to be with my mom; I miss the convenience of fresh produce in the Friday market; I love being able to eat tofu every day if I want to. These juxtapositions of love in each world I circle through confuse me sometimes. Where am I supposed to feel most at home? Which place should I miss the most? The Netherlands? Turkey? Lebanon? California? And there are more, but those figure most prominently in my recent history.
I get flashbacks often. Today it was a road in Beirut, one we didn't go down often. I can tell you exactly where the bridge was that we drove under, the vegetable mini markets on the right side of the road advertising fresh produce at unbeatable prices. We always flew by those, intent on another destination, usually City Centre mall (not to be confused with City Mall mall, which I always mixed up) but I thought, fleetingly, as we whizzed by, that we should have stopped and at least gotten a few things.
The flashbacks come without warning and often without logic. It's not like I smell something familiar that transports me back to where I ate that food, ran in that grass, or played with that dog. It's almost as if my brain glitches, and, uncertain exactly where to place me today, it twitches in time and finds something that feels familiar and presents me with it.
Then there's the anxiety. I start to count the days I've been here and worry about my husband being alone. Never mind he is in his 40's, lived on his own for nearly 20 years before we got married, and is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He can cook, clean, do his own laundry, and all much faster than I can. We can video chat, message each other at all hours of the day or night, and call for hours if we want to. The wonders of modern technology does much to assuage the anxious thoughts of "I wonder if he's eaten today? Is he warm enough? Is he home safely?" And yet, it also adds to it because the very vivid reminder that I have a husband waiting for me comes home with a stronger punch than usual when I see his grinning face through my 6-inch phone screen, as he sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes to make me laugh.
I know I have a very real purpose in being here. I've seen God guide events down to the very day and hour. Take today, for example. I woke up, made my list of to-do's, texted a friend to make tentative plans for an afternoon walk today or tomorrow, depending on the fickle fall rain and cloudy skies, and started working on my accounts. An hour or so later, my mom and I had decided that the afternoon was indeed the best time to shop, what with the Thanksgiving rush coming up and all, and I had just enough time to throw a load of laundry in, tidy up the house, prepare the cooler box, returns, water bottles, and my bag for shopping. My afternoon was planned, I was excited, and we were going to eat out at my favourite Thai restaurant.
So even in the liminality of life, I am learning that it is okay to not know exactly where to place myself. There may be anxiety, uncertainty, and a feeling of saudade for "the other" when I am not there. But this is the life we live on this earth and I'm thankful that in the midst of it all, I have a safe warm place to live, I am fed, I have things to do, and I am loved. And maybe home is constantly moving, but maybe it simply moves with me, in flashbacks that remind me of who I was and anticipation of what is ahead.
