I think I'm depressed. Or confused. Or something else negative. I don't really know.
I go home, and I have a blast. Of course, just as last time I went home, I was surprised at both who went to the trouble to see me and who couldn't be bothered. Except this time, I was home for a month. The Couldn't-Be-Bothered group was a lot larger than I thought. And full of a lot more people than last time.
Aside: I took a month off of work, foregoing a lot of pay. I paid a good chunk of money for my plane ticket. I spent 20 hours in transit. All to get to my city. Then, you bitch about having to drive 45 assfucking minutes up a highway to come see me because I preferred to spend my time inside the city instead of driving out to the suburb you live in? You cite time and the cost of gas as reasons to why you can't be bothered to do this? Stick a hot fire poker up your ass. NOW.
Anyhow, blah blah blah, living abroad really takes all of your friends and acquaintances from home, throw them in a giant pot, brings it to a boil, and concentrates the group down to those that really matter. Nothing new; that trite thought has been voiced by many others before me. The friends that really matter-the ones I'll be friends with through anything-were of course still around and all up in my shit the whole time. And despite my woe-is-me whining and thoughs, I have more of those friends than I probably should. As far as the acquaintance circle goes, I still have more of those making extreme efforts to hang with me than I should. So I need to quit feeling sorry for myself because the guy I used to sit with when I ran into him at the coffee shop doesn't manage to make it out to see me. Wah, wah, wah.
What's really bothering me, though, is my family. My dad seems to have done the whole "divorce the first family, then start a second family to forget how badly I fucked up the first" thing really well. I stayed at his house 85% of the time I was in the States. I went to visit my mom, but since leaving America, she has moved to a different city in a different state where I know nobody. She and I get along well (even better now that I live 8000 miles away), so I would have rather stayed in a house with her. Alas, my friends have a strong pull. So Dad's house it was.
Without getting into too much detail, he was super busy the whole time I was there. Understandable. I don't expect anyone to drop all of their plans for a month just because I am there, especially when there's a family with young children involved. I just hope my dad maintains this interest in my little brother and sister's lives and doesn't start throwing cash at them in hopes that they go away and quit bothering him once they start to form their own identities and personalities like he did with my brother and me.
Anyhow, I didn't see much of him. Our only real interaction was me sitting in bleachers or fold out chairs watching him coach my little brother's football-basketball-baseball teams. Then he and family part deux went on vacation. Then they extended their vacation. Then my flight got delayed, so they extended their vacation even more. Then they came back to town just in time to live up to all of their social and extracurricular obligations. Then, after a 9 hour round trip to the state capitol and back to get my cat's paperwork in order, my last night in town came, and I was informed that my dad was too busy to spend any time with me. I didn't say anything. Biting my tongue is not one of my best abilities, but I know it's an essential survival skill when dealing with my father.
I called my brother and we bitched about my Dad for a bit. I invited him out to dinner with a friend of mine since we were going to be close to his area. He said he would come, but over the next hour that somehow turned into a huge fight, ending in him yelling at me and not showing up.
I had dinner with my friend, and it was great seeing him again. Around 10 PM, as we were leaving the restaurant, my phone rang. I was on the other side of my giant city about to start the madness that was getting last minute things taken care of, and my dad wanted to know when I'd be leaving in the morning. When I informed him that I would be vacating the house around 3-4 AM, I got the whole "Woooow, I didn't know you would be leaving THAT early. I want to see you before you leave, but I don't want to stay up until 4 AM." I "snapped" and very calmly (seriously, I know better than to approach this man with aggression) informed him that I thought 10 PM on my last night in town was a strange time to finally make me a priority. That did not go over well. He blamed me for changing my flight when they had things going on, charmingly said "To HELL with you" twice, and then hung up on me. He wouldn't answer my calls the two times I tried to call him back.
I am the spawn of a giant man-child.
After that, I went to my friend's house to drink my sorrows away, killing time to make sure he had gone to sleep before I went home. Once I got home, I packed up my crap, took a shower, got dressed, loaded up my luggage in my best friend's car, and headed to the OTHER side of town to get my cat from my exboyfriend.
And that's where I discovered that even if I broke up with him, even if I chose the life I'm leading now over the life I had with him, even if I'm dating other people, even if we are still good friends who had dinner a couple of times and got along fairly well with the new platonic element thrown into things, it is still not pleasing to find another girl's car in his driveway at 4 AM.
I got my cat and got the hell out of there. By the time my dear best friend (he might have been the only thing keeping me sane that night) and I parted ways, I was ready to get on the plane and get the fuck out of America.
Which brings me to here. It's like 9 AM on Sunday morning, and I haven't seen any of my friends other than my coworkers and MP. I haven't gone anywhere except the grocery store and Family Mart since Friday night. Not only am I broke, thanks to The World's Most Expensive Trip, but I just don't want to see anyone badly enough now to deal with the cold and the ice and the personal hygiene involved in going out.
See, I'm very aware that here in Korea, I don't BELONG. I knew this coming here, and I am still aware of it. Sure, I have a job and friends and life is good, but this place will never be a home. The real bummer, though, is going "home", back to where I'm supposed to belong, and feeling like an outsider there too. I got carded at bars by the same bartenders that were serving me 4-5 nights a week a few years ago. My father made me feel completely unwanted. Some of my friends absconded into nonexistence. Seeing my exboyfriend made me question the decisions I've made regarding him.
By being in Korea so long, by dedicating such a huge chunk of my 20's to a place where I know and am OK with never being fully accepted, have I fucked things up past the point of no return at home?
Have I stretched myself across the Pacific ocean, between two cities that I have homes in, to find myself without a home?