Going home.
Can you really go home? I left home at 18 to go off to college. Granted, it was only
twenty minutes away but I was on my own. Besides a quick return home at 23 for a couple
of months, I've been away from home for 11 years now. And every year that I go home it
feels less and less like home.
The house and the parents are pretty much the same. The town never changes much. A little
more traffic but still slow and boring. Could it be that your bedroom is a guest room and
you're regulated to the cough? Could be? Is this different for the Chinese readers out
there? My Chinese family keeps everyone under the same roof; parents, grandparents and
whoever else needs a place to stay.
The American Irish side of my family, the kids run off when they hit 18 and only visit
during the holidays. The parents are forced to fence for themselves. Maybe that's it? The
parents moved on with their lives and the children become guests in homes that used to
provide childhood memories? So who has it better, the Chinese or the American side of my
family?
The Chinese side of my family is very stable and everyone obeys the Father. With that
stability comes control. Everyone under the father has to pretty much do what the Father
says. For some people, that's a good thing.
The Irish side of my family is very unstable, nobody really communicates with each other,
and everyone has issues with each other. You do get to do whatever you want. With that
flexibility comes the lonely road of providing for oneself.
Every year that I do go home, more and more of my friends and family are getting married
and making babies. It was okay a few years ago. The ones that got married were regarded as
foolish and the ones making babies were regarded as horny bunnies. How do you rationalize
it now when everyone is married and with kids?
You don't. You end up going to the local dive bar by yourself and drinking yourself silly
with the guy you used to drink silly with back when you were in high school. Talk about a
long night, all the guy wants to talk about is the good old days when he was the man and
he got all the bitches. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't hit you with his mullet every
time he turned his head.
This melon collie feeling of going home gets compounded when you don't have a real home
of your own. Doesn't count when you eat cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Doesn't
count as a home when you rent and no one's there to meet you. It doesn't count when your
bed is in the living room.
What do you do?
Join the line, get marry and make babies? Is that so bad?
I guess you can go home...at least for the holidays.
Written by Charlie Cheng
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