Huckabee

Such a relatively short period of time has passed since my departure from London, but my insides (both figurative and literal) have gone through something of an uncomfortable process.

Before going further, this is not me on the mountaintop… equilibrium has yet to be exposed and I feel light years away from enlightenment of any sort.  I am however, suffering from a case of internal crisis, somewhere between identity and existential.

Social worker cum English teacher, and somewhere in the next year I want to study holistic medicine or massage therapy, but not as a career calling- just something extra on the side.  Profession? Life ambitions?  I was hoping to resemble something of a vagabond until I found my utopia, my niche.

My accent constantly betrays me.  I find myself fumbling for words when questioned about my origins. Hastily I add that I’ve spent the last 6 years in London and have actually just received my British citizenship.  Did I mention that I’m half Peruvian?  Trying to paint a composite portrait of myself in two sentences, when the truth of the matter is that I don’t fully identify with any of these nationalities even in fractions, but it’s a matter of endeavoring to explain who I clearly feel I am not.

I’m not a tourist nor am I a native.  There is no desire to live here beyond the time period of a couple of visas, but when fantasies blanket my thoughts I am not returning to either of the places I once called home.

London captured my heart eight years ago and it saw me undergo a metamorphosis which involved a transition into adulthood as I know it.  I ran with the freedom it offered and lived life to the fullest as best as I knew how.  The big city allowed all to just be without judgement; but time slipped through my fingers like grains of sand and the daily distractions were too much to feel that I was satisfying a deeper sense of self. 

On the other end of the spectrum lies Holland, Michigan.  No one can fault the beauty of the town with its lakeside offerings and seasonal treats (sledding down Van Raalte Hill, the hues of leaves in autumn).  Many who occupy my heartstrings still reside amongst landmarks of my earliest memories.  For this reason my birthplace remains wrapped in cotton wool but it still manages to suffocate me nonetheless.  Inasmuch as I attempt to focus on all of its assets, my vision is infiltrated by a culture of narrow mindedness that I find unavoidable.  One has to reside there to appreciate the paradox or get swept away by rigid codes of shoulds and shouldn’ts, rights and wrongs.  This is not in a moral sense but in the inability to shake an archaic system of values.   Broadly speaking, differences in culture or lifestyle are not celebrated with earnestness and there is an undertone of being threatened by such things.  It wasn’t until I went to university that I felt the influence of my environment lesson its grip on me.  Further to that, the first time I stepped foot London was the first time I felt truly liberated. 

I digress.  The point is that I am finding it unnerving to see aspects of my identity melt away in front of my very eyes.  I am neither here nor there.  I don’t know where to call home when this over.  I am unsure what profession I will follow/take up.  This isn’t forever but the next chapter remains but a mere seed and the fruits it will bear are likely to depend on the unknown events of the next months.  Perhaps this will be viewed as exciting, but it’s highly disconcerting at this juncture.   My appearance now pales to the lengths I would previously go to make myself presentable.  It’s of no consequence that I wander the streets without a lick of war paint (not even eye liner, ladies) and my clothes and body are constantly in need of a good wash.  Social events, weekend behavior, musical discoveries, favorite threads, my love for Gob Bluth, etc don’t amount to a thing.  When children are defecating on the side of the road my dislike for Jennifer Aniston and all the other trivial opinions I hold completely disintegrate.  It doesn’t mean that I’ll give “The Bounty Hunter” a chance (in hell), but it just doesn’t matter.  Lessons of humility and simplicity have slapped me across the face and at feels as though the layers of my being have been ripped off to mere values, ideals, and nerve endings.

 

At least there’s that.