From Everywhere & Nowhere

I wish people would ask, “Where is home for you?” Instead, they ask, “Where are you from?” My perception of the person’s intention determines whether I respond helpfully, obligingly, enigmatically or rudely. “Do you mean, ‘Where was I born? or Where did I grow up? Are you asking about my ethnic make-up?’ If they’re curious about where I grew up, I have to decide where to begin.”

For a person of Nicaraguan-Greek-Scottish descent who has re-located ten-plus-and-counting times (not including moves within the same city), the answer is complicated. The journey starts off in Managua, but after 52 days switches to College Station, then to Baton Rouge, then Managua (would’ve stayed longer, but the war started), Gainesville, New Orleans, back to Gainesville, Richmond (near London, not VA), Palo Alto, San Francisco, Albany (next to Berkeley, not the one in NY), and now, State College.

Some people have a genuine desire to know, but for many, it’s just small talk. Those who rarely leave their home state sometimes look at me with pity. If they belong to the “I’m saved but everyone else on the planet who's not Christian is not” Club, the look of concern is great and I’m cast off into the “troubled, probably because her parents divorced when she was young” category. My judgment of others is equally problematic so I understand where they’re coming from. It’s a human dilemma; we’re simply two sides of the same coin.

Where am I from? Everywhere, and nowhere. The more important question, Where is my home? has nothing to do with a physical structure. My home is the place I go to seek God; it’s the place deep within my innermost being. There’s no start, no end, it simply is. I suppose this means my home is also everywhere, and nowhere.