The surreal quality of my life here at Oxford has changed slightly with the commencement of my seven-week long spring break. A real sense of displacement and disorientation has been dogging my footsteps as I travel around, stay put, and prepare to travel once more.
My first week of break was mostly consumed with working on some important applications; the second was spent travelling with my family; and I'm spending this third week here in Oxford. After my aunt’s visit that begins this weekend, I’ll quickly pack up and prepare all the last minute details of the three-week trip that will conclude my break. I’m in denial about how quickly break has already been evaporating. The days have been ticking past in a blur, and I have the sad feeling that I will wake up tomorrow to go home to the States. That day a few months from now keeps drawing my eye in my planner, and I return to it with a slightly masochistic fascination—the end date to my year abroad.
I had dreaded not seeing my family for an entire 6.5 months and was very relieved when my mom and little brother decided to visit me in London. Whenever someone visits me in England, I am confronted with the reality that hey, that person is visiting England—and I’m here, in the place that person is visiting—so, oh, yes, of course: I’m in England. It shocks me every time. My own thick-headedness was unexpected. In fact, how surreal this year is perhaps makes the most surprising quality of studying abroad.
The train journey felt, as it often does, matter of fact: I was travelling somewhere, I’d arrive soon, then my family would be there. I lugged my bag up the stairs and craned my neck around the corner. There they were, exhausted from jet lag but smiling. The thought crossed my mind, wow, we have ten whole days together. And suddenly, we were back at the train station, embracing, parting with a sweet “I miss you already! Love you!” It was over. Done. That’s the ultimate frustrating cycle, huh? Because I enjoy something, the time flies; because I enjoy something, I don’t want it to end. So therefore because I enjoy something, I’m forced to love that which is fleeting, and it becomes insubstantial, transient in my clutching, tightening fingertips.
We saw many of the things I had wanted to do in London, including the National Portrait Gallery, the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, St. James Park, the London Eye, a Thames River Cruise, Piccadilly Circus, the Tate, Oxford Street, and Portobello Market. London feels familiar, like it’s claimed me in the same way that DC has. During their visit we also ventured to Barcelona, which was not my favorite city, though still enjoyable overall. It felt a little out of date somehow, and the food was disappointing. I enjoyed the architecture, which was eclectic, surprising, cohesive only in its diversity. The beach was also a gorgeous shade of blue, though too cold to swim in yet. My jeans got a bit soaked and the sand stuck between my toes within the confines of my shoes as we left the beach. But then I realized, I have sand from the beach of Barcelona, Spain and the water of the Mediterranean Sea on my person. The tangible quality of discomfort slightly helped the reality to sink in. Finally, I dragged the family around Oxford to show them my favorite places and we made a quick trip to the Brighton beach. The trip really did feel almost over before it had started and at other moments like it lasted for ages. We had slipped back into that comfortable familiarity of knowing each other in a way that only family can. Saying goodbye was hard, certainly, but the awareness of how quickly the rest of my time here will pass made it easier. I’ll be seeing them again very, very soon.
My one relaxing week of break actually spent in Oxford has also gone by quickly. I had some unexpected additional applications to work on, errands to run, details to take care of in planning my three week trip. It occurred to me, while riding the train back to Oxford after telling my family goodbye, that I was going home. How ambiguous and heavy and nuanced the word home has become for me. If I left it at that, “I rode the train home,” it could be heading to multiple locations: Kansas, Washington, DC, or Oxford. Isn’t there something powerful in that? When I was in Barcelona, I anticipated returning to the UK, to England, to my family’s little apartment in London that we had rented, to Oxford, to my dorm room, to my computer that connected me with all my friends and family across the ocean. Thinking about how far removed I was from home, peeling back the layers of distance, made me feel...displaced. Like a vagabond. Like what was at the core of all those layers, the idea of one true home, had lost its meaning in the shuffle, suffocated by the layers surrounding it. But I'm learning to accept and love my three homes in their separateness and in their commonalities.
I keep learning more and more about this newest home of mine. With the weather warming up in Oxford, the perfect scene was set for me to return to it like a lover after a six month absence—smiling in a way that took up my whole face, feeling peace in the familiarity of that which I returned to, trust that I would be welcomed, hope for all that we would experience in our reunion. I anticipate the rest of my break; I anticipate the rest of my time in Oxford; I anticipate seeing my family once more. It will be all too soon before I write again, looking back to the entirety of my seven-week spring break.
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