It feels as if everyone is going home for the holidays except me. I am going back to where my parents currently live and my dog dwells. The carefully groomed neighborhoods and the 60 million dollar football stadium aren't charming to me, it’s just sad. There is always a sort of gloom looming over me leading up to when I return there from university. This doesn’t mean I don’t love seeing my mother and father, but I cannot help disliking coming back to this little city in Texas. It feels like the antithesis of home, instead a place desperately trying to force the illusion of comfort.
As a Third Culture Kid who lived in Asia for 10 years, the concept of home has always been an ambiguous one. For me, home is where the emotional attachment is. It is where there is wonder and excitement but still the feeling of belonging. It definitely isn’t this city in Texas. I don't want pity because I understand that I am beyond privileged to have what I have, but I do want to bring to light to the difference between a house and a home.
There are people who feel trapped when they go back to their house that is expected to feel like home. There are people who grew up somewhere different and find home in places that are unexpected to an unknowing person. Going back to the house where my parents live just makes me miss where I really feel like is my home. When I see people getting excited to return to the place they spent their childhood, I cannot help but be jealous because I haven't been able to return to my home in a long time. I can’t tell you exactly where I am from, but I can tell you that going "home" for the holidays doesn’t mean I am really going to where I feel I belong.
