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thelaaseit · 4 years

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Memory Sick

The last time I wrote, one of my best friends asked me to put a trigger warning at the beginning of my texts. For her, it was because my last story trashed on airplanes. She loves airplanes. But today I am writing about sadness.

Written April 27, 2020.

Edited May 7, 2020.

About a month ago, I read that there are two types of people-- people who narrate their lives and people who feel. I’m the latter. I feel and I feel with no clear sense. This is why I write. I write to understand-- how I am feeling, what I am feeling, why I am feeling-- and when I begin, I have no idea where my mind is going to take me. I don’t sit down with a set topic. Nope. I wait for it to come. And it always comes. It comes with a force of realization that always overwhelms me. But today is different. Today I don’t have to search. I don’t have to search because I already know. Today what I feel is sadness and this sadness was triggered. Triggered by bread. BREAD.

This sadness isn’t normal. It’s not something that has fully reached my brain. It’s just an ache in my body. A sadness in my core. Please notice how I said “in my core” and not “to my core”. What I feel is deep, it resides in the pit of my stomach, but it’s nothing that has yet surfaced. But now. Now that I am writing, acknowledging, I can feel it planting. I can feel it growing. It’s spreading.

I’m not a crier. That’s something that has always been very difficult for me to do. Even when I feel like I should cry-- to accept, to embrace, to release-- tears rarely fall. Even the most desperate feelings that I carry seldom break the surface. But now my chest is tight, my breathing has shallowed, there is a familiar twinge in my eyes… am I about to cry? No, there’s no way.

Yesterday, my host mom made what she calls “Cereal Bread”. It’s whole grain, I think, but she says it’s cereal bread. Whatever. It’s not important. What is important is that this homemade whole-grain cereal bread tastes an awful lot like the bread my Momma makes back at home. Shoot. I might actually start to cry. I feel numb. This can’t be happening. Of all the things that could have made me cry while living in Italy, is BREAD really what has brought me to the verge of tears??? ANYWAYS, the bread. The bread tastes like home.

A discovery I have made about myself while living abroad is that I only ever get homesick for a memory. What’s insanely interesting is that even when I was living with my parents this summer, I felt homesick for this particular memory. The memory: cookouts on the back porch with my family - wow I am actually crying. This is so strange, I really need to go to bed. But I miss the grilled steak, I miss the candles, I miss the Tennessee summer air, I miss the big green trees, I miss the freshly cut grass, I miss the mother freaking sweet tea. I miss the stupid squirrel thrown that was nailed to the oak tree in our back yard, I miss the fire pit... I miss my childhood. I miss playtime with my best friends. I miss going to the lake. I miss Moe Moe. I miss my brother. I miss those differently colored leaf plates my mom bought at HomeGoods. I miss the windows being open and smooth jazz being playing all throughout the house. I miss the tranquility. I miss our family time. I miss the comfortability and the stability that only comes from your first home. I miss sitting on my daddy’s lap. I miss hugging my momma and playing with her hair. I miss her freaking homemade bread.

This moment is so strange for me because it’s the first time I have ever really been HOMESICK. And it’s because of that stupid bread. But what is absolutely WILD to me is that I am crying (now heaving) over something that has passed. A memory that, even if I was back in Tennessee, I couldn’t ever really go back to. Because what I am crying over is 2114 Willow Creek Lane memories. My childhood. The complete contentment one gets ONLY from their first home. From their first love. The stable, unconditional, warm love from your family.

I am sitting here trying to piece together WHY I feel so desperately sad. Why do I feel this way about something so unattainable? Maybe because 2114 Willow Creek Lane was a constant in my life from ages 0-21? And I am 24 now. Yeah. That's probably it. Because change is difficult for me. And stability is crucial in a person’s life. And in the last three years of my life, I really haven’t had a single source of maintainable stability. My future has been uncertain, still is uncertain, and will continue to be uncertain. My independence is a sweet poison. Sweet because it’s what I have always wanted. A poison because I have it until I die.

I am one of those people that strongly believes that all things happen for a reason. I think that all feelings happen for a reason, too. All feelings are justified. All are valid. All are important. This longing for my childhood makes me sad, yes, but also incredibly thankful. Thankful that I have memories good enough to invoke a sense of longing. I also feel excited. Excited for the opportunity to create a comfortable sense of stability for myself. An opportunity to create this sense for others, as well. And to all these emotions I am experiencing tonight-- sadness, happiness, longing, love, heartbreak, excitement, thankfulness, nervousness-- to all these emotions, I say to you: I feel you, I acknowledge you, I appreciate you, and now it’s time to continue.

#memories childhood love longing appreciation family italy homesick

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