10 Sep Returning “Home”

“Home” is a funny thing. I spent seven years living in Los Angeles. I was nine when I first arrived, and sixteen when I left. I had the American accent, whiter teeth, and strictly wore Abercrombie and Fitch.

My dad worked in L.A., and my mum stayed for a while until she craved the textures of London so much that she returned on her own to the U.K.

 It was a confusing time, and one of growth and mistakes. In other words, it was home, if only for a short while. I learned how to sew bags and sold them at the local farmers market, I learned (thought I learned) how to sing, I became very good at Hip Hop dancing class, and spent many a Saturday getting henna tattoos on Venice beach, and eating too many tacos for my own good.

On my first day of high school, my dad made me a proposition. He told me, one day, when you’re finished studying, you’ll have to leave this country and go back to live in England with your mother. It’s up to you when you do that, but you can go now or after college. I think he knew I missed my mum after their divorce, or maybe he wanted me to be re-aquainted with my roots.

I left, and never came back (Until now). Partly because it didn’t seem right to set up house and then leave it all behind once I had graduated. Visas are a funny thing…

Eventually I was settled into life in England, I applied to U.E.A. and got a place there. Part of the course was a year to study abroad, but this was in the distant future. Eventually when we applied for our study abroad placement I thought, maybe I’ll go back “home” and see how it’s changed.

Five years later, here I am back in California. I live in a house with five of my friends from England who have never lived in the USA before. Together, we joke about our first times drinking out of red cups, and beer pong, and all the things we hope to experience while we’re in the US. Equally, we enjoy a collective sense of home together, which can be reassuring.

But sometimes it can be strange “returning home” as an international student. It raises a lot of questions.

At a recent house party me and my British friends relished in the beer pong, and alternate taste in music. We were all together, and then strangely I saw a familiar face. A girl from L.A. that I once knew, she approached me and after hearing my now English accent looked confused. “Oh, yeah, I’m English now”… It’s definitely a strange thing. In some ways it gives my experience more texture, things are unfamiliar and homely simultaneously. I look forward to charting my experiences on this blog!