Coming back to New York gets harder every year. People fill up my facebook wall with comments like welcome home, but I wonder what they are really referring to. It certainly doesn’t feel like home. The feelings that wash over me as I make my way up familiar roads surrounded by this Hudson Valley beauty are not the welcoming kind. They are filled with the memories of hardship and alienation that I endured here. I feel a bit of surprise to find myself back in a land that evokes no comfort. I knew I was coming but still wonder what it is I am doing here, again. It was an emotional risk stepping away from here, and returning only brings the sense that I haven’t become completely free.
I wonder for a moment if this is how other immigrants feel when they return to their homelands. My mind is filled with images of the African artists I know who bring guests home with them each year. It’s not exactly the same I quickly realize. There is a fierce pride and love of their land that I am missing.
I am here to visit family, reduced at this point to a single person. It’s not enough to fill up every day. I visit some of the friends that I’ve managed to maintain contact with over these years, but they are busy with their lives. In many cases it’s become an annual one day visit. I wonder if it’s worth it, though I enjoy the conversation and the reconnecting. It’s not the visits I dread, but the spaces in between. The long and awkward days of wondering how to fill my time.
We visit parks and pools, swimming holes and beaches. I appreciate the open, public areas to while away our time. I appreciate the simple tranquility of playing in the green grass and feeling completely safe and sure. Such an ordinary day at the park is not easy to come by in Kinshasa, but these outings make me more resolved to create them. The truth is, we’re not here on vacation, so the typical spending money and sightseeing are limited options. We don’t have a space to call our own or reliable transportation. Every day becomes a maze of determining what we are going to do and how we are going to do it causing the least inconvenience to others. The lack of independence troubles me.
The empty spaces also inspire reflection. At times, this can be helpful , but too much leads to depression. I’ve done enough looking back and want to be filled with bright light of the future. It’s hard to engage in forward thinking and planning from this state of limbo. And I did resolve to take a true respite from work and not complete any major tasks during this break. I promised to enjoy my children and be truly grateful for the time we have to share together. I promised to be present in every moment.
Many of our moments are filled with TV (the boys sound like commercials as we drive past places they’ve heard about- can we stop at Wendy’s? They have a new fruit salad for only $2.99.) I am dismayed and overwhelmed by their constant requests for everything they see in the stores as we stock up on school clothes and supplies. Even the grocery store has become a series of unending demands for all the foods we cannot find in Kinshasa.
It’s difficult to continue our sweet routines of stories and books before bedtime. But we've come to accomplish a mission and if we are successful perhaps this will be the last trip of its kind. As with all challenges, I've learned a bit about myself this trip, who I am, who I want to be and who I want around me. Eager now to begin the business of filling in the spaces.
