The Other Hemisphere: Quick Thoughts on Time Spent Upside

Not only did I recently leave Chile, but I also came back: A feat several of my fellow gringos regarded with skepticism. Not because they´re knockin´this country (maybe some of them are) but because a person´s home is their home. It´s like no matter how well-starred the hotel, you´re always going to prefer your own bed. But here´s the funny thing- I was happy to come back. I wanted to come back. I was even a touch hesitant about leaving. Granted, I was estatic to see my family and friends and use honey mustard, but absent was the euphoria and sheer delight I assumed awaited me at Atlanta International Airport. Really, de-boarding the plane was just like all the other times I´ve exited an aircraft. Anti-climatic. Remember the days when people who loved you were allowed to wait at the gate? I had to take a shuttle from the airport to the hotel before I could get a hug. And the whole ride there, I talked incessantly at (not to) the Jamaican driver in hopes of dazzling him/someone/anyone with my¨I live abroad¨thing. He didn´t care. 24 hours earlier, when I´d taken the bus from my house in Santiago to the airport, I´d encountered something else apart from an apothetic chauffer. Sadness. Not the overwhelming kind, but a subtle, taste-in-the-mouth type. Even though I knew I was headed somewhere familiar, I felt the distinct wistfulness of change- an acute awareness of the passage of time and my inability to fully recover the exactness of my old life. I also knew that I was returning to Chile, thus greatening the distance between what used to be and what now is-(particularly in light of my recent decision to stay an additional year).

And then something strange happened.

You´d think that if you lived in a country for 23 years, 7 months away is hardly substancial to really shake up your habits. Wrong. Not only did I charge into the men´s bathroom on three separate occasions- (M is for Mujeres!)- I ordered coca-lights, showed up 20 minutes late for everything, and forgot that sweatpants does not an ensemble make if you´re looking to garner a few self-esteem lifting catcalls on the streets. Whoopsie.

Anyway, I´m back now, plugging away and enjoying the effortlessness with which a make-up-free face and t-shirt draws more attention than a Bellavista churro stand after midnight. Am I crazy for staying another year away from home? We´ll see.