A Stranger in a Familiar Land
The door opens and a rush of cool winter air hits my face. The silhouette of the surrounding brick buildings blocks the moonlight. Soft candescent street lamps highlight the classic Dutch cobblestone pavement in an orange hue. I walk down the stairs as droplets land on my overcoat reminiscent of the Seattle rain I’m so used to thousands of miles away. I’m carrying a box filled with vases of flowers. My brother leads the way and reminds me to watch my step as we scurry over to the parked car. Under the soft pitter-patter ambiance of the rain, the car beeps melodically and lifts its trunk door. I place the box of flowers in the back of the trunk and I glance back at my brother as he lets out a sigh of relaxation. Its been a long and overwhelming day for him. I can tell that much. Who wouldn’t be overwhelmed on their wedding day? A brief respite from the commotion inside, the events of the day are catching up to him and he says to me “Thanks Jim…” He smiles. A brief pause. He says “I’m glad you’re here. Yet, every time you come back I feel like I don’t really know you anymore.” He pauses again. “But that’s just how it is, you know?”
…
And it’s true. That is just how it is. It’s been maybe 3 years since I’ve actually been back home. Meanwhile, we’ve lived completely separate lives. All the family calls in the world aren’t a substitute for proximity. Because it’s not just a geographical distance we’re trying to bridge, its also a cultural distance. And it isn’t just my brother. I’ve felt like a stranger in my own home the whole week.
What is home? Where is home? It’s a bit of a cliché question to ask for people who’ve moved around a lot. Here’s a cliché answer: home is where the heart is. Even though its a cliché answer to a cliché question, I think it encapsulates my feelings towards ‘home’ quite well. Home isn’t a geographical place for me. Home is where I feel comfortable and surrounded by loved ones, whether that’s Seattle, Holland, China, Singapore or whatever. Right now, it just so happens to be the Netherlands. One day, it might be where I start my own family.
It was truly a strange feeling being completely absent from my brother’s day-to-day life and suddenly being thrust into being the best man at his wedding. There I was, next to my brother, in a land I haven’t lived in for 17 years, next to the groom who I haven’t truly talked to for what has felt like years, listening to the officiator talking in a language I haven’t spoken for half a lifetime. The Netherlands is my country of birth but it is place where I don’t have friends, I don’t have autonomy. I don’t have a phone, no bank account, no friends. I don’t even know my parents’ home address by memory or the area where they live. And yet the moment I stepped out of the airport terminal I felt the warmth of familiarity as I breathed in the fresh humid air of the lowlands. I felt like my six-year-old self as I sat in the car, on the way back home, getting lost in my own thoughts, watching the green pastures go by and observing the thick fluffy clouds hanging low on the sky, surrounded by family.
In Chinese there’s a word called 家乡. The direct English translation is “home” but lacks all the connotations of emotions of comfort and safety evoked in Chinese. 家乡 is the fireplace that brings warmth in a cold winter’s day. It’s the anchor that tethers the kite. It’s the ocean wave that always brings you back to shore. It’s the group of loved ones that greet you at the airport arrival hall. You can move, call somewhere else home until the next time you move and go to a new place. You could have many homes, but you’ll always have just one 家乡.
…
I look at my brother and I see a tired and bright face that is for sure the result of weeks of planning and all the emotional commotion that has transpired through the entire day thus far. But in his eyes I sense the joy of a newlywed man and the radiance of a happy older brother. “I know what you mean” I say. We make our way back into the venue and I mentally prepare myself for the celebrations to come through the rest of the night. As I follow him as I have for so many years, I reflect on my relationship with him. He’s always been the one taking care of me, doing things for me. Being the best man feels like probably the biggest thing I’ve done for my older brother. I promise to myself then that I’ll be back soon, that I’ll come home more often, and that we won’t ever feel like reconnecting long-lost brothers again.
