Fresh Cut Grass

After a long afternoon of walking and exploring Vina I returned home to my apartment building. Climbing the stairs, which I swear, have got to be as tall at Mount Everest, I was met with the smell of freshly cut grass which sent a pang of nostalgia up my spine and quickly settled in the pit of my stomach. This is the first time since I have been away that I have missed home. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt so blindsided by the feeling of homesickness that I felt guilty for not feeling it until now. I stopped on the path and inhaled. And exhaled, and inhaled again. I didn't expect tears to come, but they did. Just like I didn't expect the nostalgia to sting so much or feel so heavy in my heart, but it was.Very heavy. 

I hate the feeling of homesickness almost at much as I hate the feeling of vomiting your guts out after a night of heavy drinking. The cause of my detest probably stems from the mindset that I am here and I want to live here. I want my head and my heart to all be in one place and not scattered into different places all over the earth. Over time it eats away at you, creating little tears until something like the unexpected scent of fresh cut grass sends you into a meltdown. I hate this feeling, but it is kind of the life that I have chosen, well sort of. It really all just happened. Family in Maine and Brazil, Germany and Switzerland, friends in New Hampshire, a boyfriend in New Zealand, and now I am in Chile. I am already finding more people to love and get close to. 

I wish I could just appreciate the feeling of longing to be close to someone when I am far away, since it says something about how much they mean to you and you to them. Like I said before, I feel guilty for despising it. Like I am ungrateful for being where I am right now. I know that it is always harder watching someone leave and being the one left behind, like I have now done to my family twice. But life cannot always be fun and games, going to clubs and the beach. But life is not a fairytale, nor would I ever want it to be. Sometimes you just have to break down on a bench in the garden and cry.