Friend of mine took the long trip home a few weeks ago to visit family because she was homesick. Another friend just renewed her passport hoping to go home this summer because she too is homesick. When I first moved here, my feeling of homesickness became almost unbearable by the time the third year came along. I was working full time and going to school in the evenings. I had to beg my boss and my professors to let me take a few weeks off. I was so excited when my boss approved my vacation, excusing me from my summer duty. Unfortunately my first visit home was a dose of reality that I had not anticipated.

My oldest brother, my youngest niece and my mother picked me up at the airport. The last time I saw them, my brother was driving a nice car. They had long used up the ten grand I wired them. I was picked up in a old decrepit car that was about to fall apart. When I asked whose car it belonged to, I was met with sheer silence that could slice through a soul. My visit was awful. I was so miserable. I hated every bit of it. By the time my husband called, I was crying my eyes out. I don't even remember the details of my misery. The house had such negative energy that it sucked the very life out of me. I couldn't wait to get out of there.

Three years later, I made another trip home. It was soon after my 2nd and final round of failed IVF. I had a positive pregnancy test a few days, only to find out that it was a chemical pregnancy. I had days to purchase my ticket and I paid premium. My emails to my family about my visit were ignored. It was the hurt that I refused to entertain. I planned the trip knowing the consequences. I planned my trip with extended days with friends in the beginning and end to refresh my soul. It worked out well. This time, my oldest brother and my oldest niece were there to meet me in the same old car, three years older. This was the trip my mother rolled her eyes at me when I walked through the door. I responded by giving her a big kiss on her cheek. I soon found out that she hated me so much that she didn't care if I did not have anyone to pick me up. The tension remained but soon she did soften her harden shell and cooked me a few of my favorite dishes. But I never did forgive her for rolling her eyes at me. I never did tell her about my miscarriage but close family friends who knew made sure that I had extra nutritiousness food to heal. My mother was so preoccupied with her hatred and anger that she didn't see the daughter in front of her.

My last visit was four years after that. By then, both my parents have passed. I wanted my son to meet his cousins. I was not sure how the atmosphere of the house would be. I was surprised by the simple joy without the presence of the haunting negativity. The visit was a success. The cousins met and created happy memories.

Two years have gone by and I have not had an ounce of homesickness. I do think about my friends and my nieces and nephew. But everyone has moved on and so have I. I have created a life here and is happy with where I am. Homesickness is for others and it is merely a concept in my mind. A unfulfilled desire that I no longer entertain. My home is here.