| roots (feminine, plural noun) | /ʀasin/
It seems fitting that I should begin this blog, this chronicle of the perpetually nomadic, with an exploration of my origins. So, hi. Welcome.
“Where are you from?” What a deceptively simple question. Such a “simple” question warrants an equally easy answer, right? After all, this is one of the first phrases we learn when studying a foreign language. Where are you from? Yet I never know how to answer.
I’ve lived all over the country, but I’ve spent a majority of my life in East Tennessee, in a house at the foot of the Appalachian Mountains. But anyone who knows me–or doesn’t–can attest that I lack a certain je ne sais quoi of the born-and-bred Southerner. Hell, I just know that I’ve always felt somehow out of place. If I try to pinpoint one quality I’m lacking, I risk making harmful generalizations about Southern culture, so I’ve given up trying. It is what it is. I am who I am, and that’s that.
I recently graduated with my M.A., and I’ve moved back from Connecticut to prepare for my trip to France. All of my belongings, two years of my life, are packed into boxes in the attic. They’ll gather dust as I make my life in France.
I don’t know if I’m sad about leaving Connecticut. While I had two years to prepare, the move itself was quick. A whirlwind decision to make the marathon 12-hour drive to Connecticut from Tennessee, pack and load my shit, clean house, and drive back within 24 hours. I didn’t have time to think.
I didn’t have time to stop by my favorite Indian restaurant one last time (I swear to God they have the best muttar paneer I’ve ever had.). I’ll miss the Italian grocer who gave out small spoonfuls of homemade cannoli cream. I’ll miss the moments spent on my porch this summer. I had no porch furniture, but I made due with a Phillies throw blanket and my dog. He’d sit for hours watching the leaves flutter behind the apartment, and I’d spend hours reading.
But I’ve only mentioned Connecticut as a place. I haven’t mentioned the people. I refuse to think I’ll never see my wonderful friends again. I plan to move back to the Northeast ASAP. I want a cozy bungalow in Vermont where I can sip craft beer, weave daisies into my hair, and attend rowdy music festivals in the summer. Until then, I absolutely refuse to say another goodbye, because I don’t sense that impending closure that should come with a goodbye. Instead, I think, I’ll be back soon.