I woke up feeling thoroughly unhinged today; for a while there I wasn't sure if I'd just had a dream because it still felt so real to me. All I can remember now is that I'd found myself sitting inside an auditorium beside a man who I could only assume was my date, like I'd just been instantaneously transported there through space and time without any apparent disruption. It was 1987 and I was in downtown Los Angeles all over again.
The details are fuzzy now, but I know that once I'd figured out where I was I felt a twinge of almost unbearable excitement. That year, you see, was not a very good one for me (okay, it was awful) and I realized I now had a chance at a do-over -- and better yet, this time I had not only my youth but also experience, and especially wisdom, on my side. Soon, however, joy turned into confusion. I realized I didn't know where my home was and how I was supposed to get there. I moved around so much during the second half of the 1980s that if you named a month and year I couldn't tell you where I lived then.
Most of my recurring nightmares have to do with feeling unmoored or being lost. I suppose it's because for nearly three decades the concept of home has been an unfettered one for me. When I lived in Los Angeles I thought of Manila as my home -- and the reverse was true, too. And now that I'm Seattle-based I feel like I have two other homes waiting for me. I may never set roots in Southern California again but practically everything I own still remains in storage over there. In this place where I now live -- without my furniture, household goods, even clothing -- I don't feel quite settled, yet.
Wherever I am something seems to be missing. Here in the States I regularly get homesick for the Philippines, yet when I'm there I miss it here, too. And even if I absolutely love it here in Seattle, I miss my friends and ol' stomping grounds in both Los Angeles and Manila. At times it feels I have too many homes and yet none at all.
They say that home is where the heart is, and that might be the reason I feel this way: I've left a huge chunk of myself in every place I've ever lived and loved in. Yet I know that change is not only inevitable but constant, and that what I remember about each place often transforms or disappears the moment I get up and leave. It's why I often feel sad when a favorite restaurant shuts down or a familiar building is demolished. One more touchstone, gone.
But I never feel trapped anywhere. If I don't like it somewhere, I can always move -- as I've done many times before. My world can't completely fall apart if there's always a space elsewhere I can find refuge in, somewhere that still feels familiar even if it's not quite the same as I remember it to be.
I suspect I'll always have these dreams of being somewhere I once was and feeling lost. The good news, however, is that when I wake up I'll be home. Wherever that might be in the world.
Recent Comments