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.