Week 7: Home

Growing up in an immigrant household, I have always juggled both sides of my identity. I've spent the majority of my life growing up with American culture and then going home and following the rules and expectations of my homeland. It has made for a stark contrast that has colored every part of my life. My parents were so happy to get a chance in America but they have always yearned for the familiarity of their home country. When I was twelve, my parents decided we would go back for a visit. What followed was weeks of preparation and packing. We spent an entire month in my country, visiting relatives and enjoying our time. 

                                                                                                                                                                

The day the plane landed in my home country, my grandparents greeted us at the airport. I hadn't seen them since I was three, so to me, I was meeting them for the first time. We walked to a car, a rare sight here since everyone traveled by moped or scooter. I was so tired from the 13-hour flight, that I slept in the car on our way to my grandparent's home. The heat was sticky and I was too exhausted to feel any of the excitement of going to a new place. My grandparents had built a house on a piece of property a little distance away from the house my father grew up in. This house looked much newer than the land around it. The room they put me in to sleep off the jet lag was quiet and cool.

When I woke up it was still daylight. In the front yard, there was a small grape vineyard. I remember how I could reach out and have a couple whenever I wanted. They were tart enough to make my mouth pucker but then a sugary sweetness would follow. The chickens my grandmother kept would wander around the front yard as well. They would peck me if I got too close. Even though this new house had a new toilet and shower, we would still use the outhouse in the back. It was because the water tank would only be full when it rained. The electricity wasn't consistent either, I could watch TV but it might turn off suddenly. It meant I had to do other things to be entertained. Wandering the fields around the house, I saw how wild the land really was. The only neighbors were cousins who lived a couple hundred feet downhill, otherwise the land was unkempt and miles from any real town. 

The food was fresher than anything I had ever had. There would be vegetables picked from the garden. The bread that my grandmother made by hand every day. When my grandfather wanted to make a night special, he would chop the head of one of the older chickens. It looked terrifying to see the poor things beheaded. The milk was from an actual cow my grandparents owned. Her name was Julie. My cousin's name was also Julie. I laughed the first time I heard it, I wondered who was named first- my cousin or the cow? Every morning my grandfather would lead Julie by the long rope around her neck. It was tied to a stake, that he would pound into the ground. They would leave her in a different field every day so she could eat enough to satisfy herself but not wander off. 

I met cousins, aunts, and uncles that I had not seen since I was a baby. All of them asked if I remembered them and I would insist that there was no way I would recognize them. Every relative was visited, it would be disrespectful otherwise. Everyone wanted to feed us and make sure we were well take care of. It was considered an honor to have a guest in the home and I look back fondly at all the places we visited. 

We spent a week at the beach with some of our other relatives. All three families renting out the top floor of a little dinky sea side resort. The first time I tasted the salty water and saw the wide expanse of ocean was incredible. We would lay out our towels and spend the whole day there. There would be men rolling around wheel barrows of grilled corn for anyone who wanted to buy a cob. There were even little shops selling things like children’s toys and inflatables. People would also rent out boats and cartoon swans to take out into the ocean. We convinced my father and uncle to rent one and I and my sister and cousins all clambered on top. We must have been pretty heavy because they quickly tired paddling us around. At the end of every night when my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep instantly- exhausted but satisfied. 

I love the feel of a cities- the conveniences, the architecture, and the activity. But there is nothing like the air in a country that has not kept up with time. The way of life of its people who value hard work and family. When it gets to too overwhelming here, I remember how much I enjoyed my time in such a peaceful place. My grandparents still own that land and the house still stands. When my parents talk about how much they miss their homeland, I am only too happy to hint that we could always go back for a visit.