by Lauren Plouffe
“I wonder what would happen if I fell flat on my face and my hair got dragged into the conveyor at the top of this thing or if I tripped this woman behind me and it happened to her, would I be arrested?” These were the thoughts going through my head as I ascended the escalator to the baggage claim area of Logan airport. “Would my luggage get sent to the address on the tag, shocking my parents months after my death? Or would it just get rummaged through, the Christmas presents stolen and the rest discarded.” I'm pretty sure these thoughts aren't normal.
I'm on my way home for Christmas for the first time in four years. I've been living halfway around the world in a vain attempt to find myself. It sounds pretentious, but its true. My family loves me and they want me to come home, but I don't ever feel ready enough. Teaching in Korea is a life of absolute freedom from responsibility. I don't even have to pay my own rent, it's like I'm playacting at being adult. Working, sure. Supporting myself, absolutely. But without ever having to learn how to interact with others. It's a joke. Suddenly, I see my Dad. It's funny how he looks different but at the same time exactly the same. “Oh, I've missed you” We say. And it's true, but as I'm enveloped in my father's hug, I am already thinking about how long I'm staying this time.