Here or There

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I watched as the wheel logo spun endlessly on my laptop screen. 

Your ticket is confirmed

I breathed a sigh of relief. The credit card had gone through and I had my summer ticket booked. I sent excited audio messages to my friends, the arrival time to my mom, and the dates I would be traveling to my husband.

And then the tears came. 

I didn't want to be here in the summer. Its hot sticky humidity made it hard to sleep at night unless the sea breeze made it past the austere municipality building that blocked our view of the Bosphorus. My husband would be busy with work and my work could be done anywhere. Nothing exciting was happening in the summer anyway.

But I still felt sad. 

I can't do this much longer, I told God. Living between countries, never quite knowing where I should be. But I didn't have much of a choice. My husband lived here. My mom lived there. My husband couldn't travel there and my mom didn't want to live here. 

What tugged even deeper at my heart was not the liminality, though. It was sadness at missing out on life. I wouldn't get to see my best friend's little boy take his first steps. I couldn't be there with my husband when he got the news that his sister died. I missed my sister's milestone birthdays, my brother's engagement, my mom's retirement party. While I was here, I was missing winter snow in California, stir-fried tofu and bok choy, pure mountain air, and fresh morning walks in silence. While I was there, I was missing holding hands as my husband and I hurried to the metro, late night bowls of ice cream, seagulls squawking and pigeons cooing, and unexpected summer rain. 

I wiped away the tears and a small smile came to my face. While I was here, I would hold on tight to the moments and when I was there, I would store up new ones to bring back home. Because that was where I would always be, whether I was there or here. 

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