Home (sickness) Tue, 17 Sep 2024 Travel ================ As a child in elementary school, I -- much like most kids -- went on holidays with my parents. My classmates of course did the same, and afterwards, when school started back up again, we would share stories. One concept which often came up in these stories was homesickness. As a child, I didn't understand homesickness. After all, what is so great about being home? And why would you miss it when there is so much to see. Later in life, we would go on class trips over weekends. There would always be kids who missed home (particularly their parents) so much that they cried for hours. Once, again, I didn't really understand their sadness. I got along fine with my parents, but the trip was fun and -- all things considered -- rather short. Much later in life, after finishing middle school, I started traveling back-and-forth between my parental home in The Netherlands and the city of Frankfurt in Germany. After about a year of doing this, I started to understand a semblance of the pain of homesickness ("homesick" comes from the German heimweh, the second element of which translates to pain). I missed aspects of Frankfurt, the modernity and general cleanliness of the city[1]. The great metro system, and general access to the "big city" where all things I missed living in a slightly rural town in The Netherlands with nothing but infrequent bus service and a shopping area of about 20 stores. However, this was not quite homesickness. I was longing for another place yes, but this place was not home. And it wasn't its home-y-ness that I missed. A few years later I moved to Oslo in Norway. Now was finally a good time to feel real homesickness. I moved by myself and went to live alone for the first time, I didn't know anyone in Norway, and I had to figure out a whole new city, country, system, culture, and language. Certainly, I was sad and lonely often during my first few weeks in Norway. I was uncomfortable with figuring out how to get around the city, needing to re-learn which stores sold what, adjusting to a genuinely disgusting shared flat, and needing to go out and socialize, they all weighed heavily on me. And yet, at no point did I want to go home. In fact, I almost had to go back as there was a problem with my paperwork, only then did I truly feel pain, and in that moment my being alone really hit home. I lived in Norway never missing home, nor even feeling nostalgic about The Netherlands nor Germany. Nor did I particularly love Oslo either, but it was certainly the most enjoyable place I had lived thus far. Two years passed like this and I moved to Italy, which a brief two months of homelessness in-between. That finally did it, the homelessness, I use this word lightly of course. In no way was I living on the street, but I had no place that I could call home, and that hurt. What hurt perhaps even more is that I had no home in Norway to which I would return. I was homesick, longing Oslo, knowing full well that I would not be going back. Moving to Italy, I had the same difficulties as in Norway, of learning a new language, city, customs etcetera. Though now I also specifically missed parts of Norway. The vast forests where I walked on a nearly daily basis where a sore point to go without, and each stroll I took in Italy where I was forced to walk virtually on the highway added to my longing. I started to (pre-emotively) miss the cold and snow (in September). I missed my patterns: In Oslo I always knew a place where I could go. The location of every library, gym, church, where I could go and be more or less at home. And here I was, in a city where I barely knew my own house, and where I hadn't even figure out yet how to get around save for walking. As strong as my nostalgia and homesickness for Norway was, I also remembered that Oslo was by no-means a perfect place. Here there might be no woods, but at least there is sunlight. Restaurants are affordable and the historical city center is a delight to walk through (also: There is a historical city center, something which Oslo lacks severely, historical or otherwise). My apartment is larger and I pay less. I no-longer have to use the laundromat because I have my own washing machine. Summer is an actual season here And if nothing else, I am closer to family. Leaving behind a home -- not for a trip, but permanently -- hurts. And the home -- though gone -- will stay with me. In case it was not clear, this post was nothing but a lengthily love-letter to Norway, as well as an attempt to trick myself into liking Italy. Though as much as I miss home, and as much as I am sceptical about Italy, I am excited to see what home I might make here... [1]: I know it is fashionable to hate on Frankfurt, and these remarks may seem odd to some. To me however, Frankfurt was and remains a beautiful place.