homesick
october notes from a nostalgia monster
1.
The dry goods aisle at Key Foods smells strangely similar to my mom’s friend’s reptile garage in Fremont, lines and lines of snakes and lizards in glass enclosures. The dry goods aisle smells a little like mulch and meal worms, which should be off-putting, but I love the weekly grocery deals. The gingko trees outside my house smell like vomit and stick to the bottom of my shoes. Even worse after the rain. I think I smelled them before in California, on Claremont Avenue, and assumed the source, proximate to fraternity houses, actually was vomit.
2.
I talk about California like a friend who is convinced she is totally over a recent breakup. Which is to say, often, and to no one’s request or benefit. In my fiction workshop, instead of insightful comments about plot and character, I am saying stuff like, “I know in Berkeley there was an animal rights group called Direct Action Everywhere” or “In California, I know some people got arrested for x, y, and z.” I don’t think it’s helpful commentary. I know it’s annoying when transplants talk about where they came from too much, at the expense of New York City, but I wouldn’t be talking about it so much if it didn’t hurt so bad. This week, someone after class said, “I’m surprised you’re not from here, you walk fast.” I told them my friends are tall and/or have ADHD.
3.
Last night, I dreamt that I visited home with my family, but it wasn’t my parents’ house in Benicia. It was my childhood home in Orange County, and I slept in my pink twin bed. In the dream, I was wondering how we were able to stay there, if we worked out some short-term rental with the new owners, but I was so happy to be home that I didn’t question it. Sometimes now when I picture leaving the house I forget that I will not be taking the N Judah to Ocean Beach. I’ve been gone long enough now that my computer has noticed and is trying to cut me off from my Youtube TV Bay Area channels. “Are you away from home?” It asks.
4.
There are things I didn’t know I would miss: driving home to the city from my parents house at night, Saturday afternoons alone at the AMC in Japantown, two hot salmon onigiri from Kissako Tea, my office job of all things, my old commute, my overpriced corner store with $9 ice cream pints, the one horrible week of October heat, my favorite local brand of tortilla chips, the cold windy beach, Eureka Valley library branch.
5.
Before my move, I thought things like: Will I ever be this happy again? Am I making a horrible mistake? What does it mean to uproot myself from everything I’ve ever known and loved? After my move, I think things like: Where can I get a cheap small lampshade?
6.
The good news is, all my days look different now, the way I always wished they would. I can wake up at 6 AM one day and 12 PM the next. (Although I should probably stop doing that). Work evenings, write in the day, take in a slow morning, make myself a glass of horrible coffee. It takes longer to get home sometimes, but that’s only because I went a little further than I used to. I am learning that I am a below-average substitute teacher because I don’t want to discipline anybody. I am learning how to explain Algebra II and Geometry. I am learning how to take advantage of student discounts and coupons. I am learning that if I don’t properly treasure it, and probably even if I do, grad school will go very, very fast.
7.
Severance by Ling Ma is my favorite novel. It became my favorite toward its ending, when the story began to imply that nostalgia and an attachment to routines turn you into a zombie until you die. I finally felt found out.