Home is Where the Heart is

My ten day trip to the USA was absolutely fantastic. As soon as I walked through the JFK arrival doors and saw my dad waving fanatically, Dunkin’ Donuts bag in hand, I knew I was home.

Within six hours of leaving the airport, I was driving up College Avenue in Ithaca to celebrate my sister Cristina’s graduation. I felt so lucky to be present, especially since Cristina and I shared two years together at Cornell. Walking through campus listening to the McGraw Clock tower, seeing old friends and professors brought me back to some of my happiest memories. I feel so incredibly fortunate for the opportunities and experiences Cornell gave me, and even luckier that I can share those with my sister.

All too quickly, I was driving south to Carlisle for some doctor appointments and more visits with friends. As I sat on my living room floor with one of my closest high school friends, who now has the most beautiful baby boy on the North American continent, I was amazed how quickly time flies. My friend’s son and my stories from Rwanda were evidence of just how much time had passed; but our giggles and candy choices (Sour Patch kids, obviously), in my childhood home, also reminded me how the important things (however small or detailed) often stay the same.

Not even forty-eight hours later, my dad and I were back on the road: this time to New York City. The highlight here was no doubt my youngest sister Daniela’s fantastic ballet show. Daniela studies at School of American Ballet and performed a solo in their spring student workshop. My mom and I sat squeezing each other’s hands as she came on stage. I am no ballet critic, but I know Daniela was without a doubt the best dancer in the performance. In New York City I met up with most of my closest friends from college, which quickly lead me to the solid decision that I will not be traveling for six months after I finish Peace Corps. Seeing the world is very, very cool, but after two years away, it doesn’t beat being with the people you love.

If you’re wondering (like everyone I ran into) if I experienced reverse culture shock, the answer is not really... or at least not in a way that I found upsetting. I think my dear cousin June took the brunt of my cross-cultural issues last December. I do, however, think Americans own way too much stuff; New Yorkers need to learn how to greet each other (you’re sharing an elevator! Say hello!); and restaurants could make their menus a little shorter… but I am very jealous of all of your iPhones.

I was a little anxious about my return to Rwanda. After spending time with my family and friends, using working toilets, and drinking so much fountain Diet Coke, did I really want to go back to the land of a thousand hills, stares, and smelly latrines? But, a few days later, as I walked towards my house and saw my eleven year old neighbor who immediately began screaming (and waving even more fanatically than my dad at JFK), announcing to all my arrival, I realized, here too, I am home.