Home Sick. Homesick.

Several friends have asked why I haven’t updated this blog recently.  I just haven’t known what to write. It is hard to know what to write when you don’t even know how you feel.  Each day is a swirl of emotions. I feel like I’m riding a roller coaster in absolute darkness – kind of like Space Mountain, but maybe a little less fun.

If you haven’t noticed before, I like to be positive. If I can’t say something positive, I keep my mouth shut until I can.  I have no problem sharing my struggles with the world once I’ve come out the other side and have some bit of encouragement to share. But, two of the things I hate most in the world are discouraging others and being pitied; so, in the midst of struggles  I withdraw.

That being said, here is the truth: I am so homesick it hurts.

It started out as short wistful moments that crept up on me when I was reminded of home. I would see Omte hold her nephew and wish I could be holding my nieces. I’d see a dog or cat in the street and long to take Rose for a walk, or to snuggle in my chair with Pyewacket purring away on my lap.

It has changed. Now, I have some blissful times of reprieve, usually when I'm busy – in fact, while writing this I was called into the kitchen to help cut out fondant letters for some cakes, and for an hour or so I felt quite fine  – but most of the time I ache for home.

The thing is, I don’t know if homesick is quite the right word for how I feel. It’s not so much that I miss my family (oh, I do, but I talk to them every day, and I know that I’ll see them fairly soon) or even my house or my town. I miss those things, but they don’t cause an ache.

It’s not the material things I miss, either. My host family bends over backward to make me feel comfortable. About a month ago I mentioned in passing that I could go for a nice tall glass of iced tea. Now every day Omte makes me iced tea in a 16oz cup, which is the biggest cup they own. If there were any material thing that would make me feel at home, I know they would do their best to provide it.

What I miss is feeling at home.  Those intangible things you never think about until they’re gone.

I miss walking  down the street without being stared at.
Without schoolgirls looking at me and turning to each other to whisper and giggle.
Without having to dodge cars, motorcycles, and sudden drop-offs into steep stairwells.

I miss knowing where to go to buy whatever I need.
Walking into stores and finding clothes and shoes that fit me, because there are not only women my size, but much bigger.
Browsing without a shopkeeper silently standing one foot away from me at all times.

I miss hearing people around me speaking my own language.
Hearing joking and laughter and knowing what is going on.
Speaking at a normal pace, without having to carefully enunciate each word.

Most of all, I miss knowing where I fit in.

I know I sound miserable, but I love Aizawl.  I really do.  I think the pain I feel is made all the worse by the fact that I  want so desperately to feel at home here.  It just doesn’t feel possible, though I know it is a lot to ask when I’ve been here just under two months. As I write this I see just how impatient I am.

And yet, I do see some light shining through the clouds; some little glimmers of that “homey” feeling.

I am slowly beginning to understand some Mizo. The rhythms and tones are becoming familiar. In any given conversation I can pick out words I understand, and if it is a simple enough conversation, I may be able to get the gist of it without being told. It gives me hope that some day I won’t feel so lonely in a room full of Mizos.

I’ve met some of the warmest and sweetest people at the college. I’ve been welcomed into student’s dorms and fellow teachers’ homes, and been shown great hospitality. When I’m passing people on the streets, I feel more like a thing than a human being; but the people I’ve actually met have shown genuine interest in and care for me as a person.

Omte and I are true kindred spirits. We talk for hours about baking, education, Mizo culture, spiritual matters, bodily functions… you name it. Nearly every day, Omte finds some silly little reason she’s glad I’m here, and I can’t help but smile when she says it.

I have spent so much time in my bed (I got out the calendar and counted – between dysentery, a cold, and an arthritis flare up, I’ve spent nearly half my days here in bed) with the odd result of my having come to love this cozy corner of the room. I’ve spent many hours deep in prayer on this bed, and I suppose that I am finding my home in prayer. This is the greatest gift.

{Thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to listen to my ramblings. I needed to think through all of these things, and I feel much better now. I have a pile of tissues I soaked through while writing the first half  of this post, but now I sit here wearing a smile of genuine contentment. Years ago I took an online quiz called “Which Book of the Bible are You?” or something like that. I got Psalms. It said that even when I start out in laments, I always end up in joyful praise.  That’s probably the most accurate personality test I’ve ever taken.}