Split
- Han
- Jul 9, 2020
- 5 min read
Living as an expat raises many challenges: The feeling of your heart being ‘split’ between two places is just one of them--it’s a tender, confusing feeling.
Once you’ve established a place that feels like ‘home’, there is no turning back. I wish it were as easy as venturing away, missing home, but having myself restored once I’ve returned. I’ve been missing someone or something my entire life. Growing up we moved a lot, and I don’t remember a time where I wasn’t missing the sunsets on Lake Michigan, or friends or family I had in other states.
Homesickness can be felt for a person, place, thing, or a feeling. It’s missing a season of your life and the people in it. It’s a sense of longing for something that you may or may not ever experience again.
Once I truly made that Big Blue House in the middle of China my home, nothing was ever the same and it never will be. I was ‘split’ from the very beginning. In sickness I missed the comforts of my old home. The comfort foods, blankets, amenities and my mom. During holidays I longed for old traditions, being surrounded by my hometown family and friends. I was desperately sad to miss out on birthdays, weddings, and other important occasions. When I needed space, I missed nature–blue skies and the smell of warm pine. I missed American grocery stores and a day out in the city not depleting me of energy lost on language barriers and sensory overload. I missed dependable internet and ice cream shops.
As soon as I was handed those things during trips back, I immediately longed for my China home. I constantly wondered what everyone was doing there, I missed the smell of steamed buns and baby powder. I was devastated to miss out on transitions with the kids. I wished I could be there for birthdays, holidays and festivals that we had made uniquely our own. I wanted time to stop so the babies would stop growing or changing. I wanted it all, and I was scared to miss out on a single thing. The good and the hard, I wanted to be a part of every moment and I desperately missed it.
“Sometimes I get homesick even when I’m home.”
No matter where I was, I was constantly in a state of ‘fear of missing out’--wanting to be hugging someone far away, or wondering what the ‘other side’ was doing and wishing I could be there. During a time where the realization of this, I journaled about it. Below is an excerpt:
“I’m forever split. My heart forever in half, each side worlds away. I try to seam it together but the thread isn’t long enough. No matter where my feet are standing, my mind is always far away--my thoughts, dreams, worries always on the other side of the ocean. Each side is fragile, each side important, each side in danger of slipping away. How do I hold onto both? My arms aren’t long enough, not strong enough. What if I lose them both? What would happen to me then? Forever split and no turning back. Is it worth it? To allow my heart to be split? It has to be…each side is everything to me. If I can never have both, will I ever be whole?”
That fear of ‘never being whole’ is so real. The reality of never being truly content in the space you occupy is crushing. I want to feel fulfilled and fully present no matter where I am. I want to have it all--be with all of my people and soak up all of my homes at one time. If I can learn to take those pangs of homesickness and view it as a moment to appreciate the fact that I have something to miss, it gives me relief. That in those moments of wishing I had my comforts, or celebrations, or my people, I can take that hurt as a moment to remember having something so sweet. Taking the pain of missing someone or something and allowing the memory to enter my heart for a visit. To acknowledge it, thank it, and appreciate it for what it means to me.
I still feel ‘split’. My heart will forever be missing someone or something. I’ve come to terms with this only recently as I’ve tried to sink into the reality of never truly having everything your heart desires at the same time. What I have come to realize, is that I do have both. I have the privilege and honor to carry both with me. When I’m not with one side, I have the memories and love for the other. The fact that I get to hold so much life and experience and love inside me is an incredible gift. Yes, maybe it means I’ll always feel a twinge of sadness or homesickness when I smell things like pine trees or baby powder. When I hear someone speaking Mandarin or see an old photo. But all of those twinges of sadness can be met right where they are with feelings of gratefulness and awe that I’ve given myself over to more than one place, person, or thing in my life. I wouldn’t trade either side for anything. Even if it spared me the pain of missing someone. I’d rather have two separate halves of a heart that can each feel the love and pain of one twice their size, than a whole heart that doesn’t have the capacity to feel it all.
“It's a kindness that the mind can go where it wishes.” ― Publius Ovidius Naso
So I take each day as it comes, and I try my upmost to be fully present. Soaking in the sights and smells of my surroundings and the hugs of the people in front of me. I allow myself to miss what’s not in front of me, but not take for granted the things that are--because I know all too well what it feels like to be separated from them. So when I'm finally holding the things I’ve missed most, I tell myself to embrace them and enjoy them, because one day they won’t be within arm’s reach and I’ll wish they were.
Both sides of my heart are familiar to the ache of being without the other. The two halves are sewn into one big, messy, intertwined heart with threads of different colors and strengths. It's been battered and bruised, but it can withstand the waves of longing and separation.
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