Missing

The worst feeling in the world is waking up, and discovering that you are not where you want to be.

When I first moved to Thailand, I was surprised that I never once awoke and missed my childhood daybed and cranberry comforter set. My friends would tell me how their stomachs would instantly tangle in knots when they dreamed they were back in old comfortable beds, and the wave of confusion that washed over when they opened their eyes and saw that blank, white walls stared back instead of framed familiarity.

I felt relieved when I traded in my alarm clock for the school whistles and birds that became my wake-up call. I would stare out the large window, and peer into iridescent skyscrapers, and felt charged by the possibilities that the day held. It was not that I didn't miss the familiar things I had left behind, but I didn't really need them like I had before.

I relished the clean white sheets that always seemed fresh and uncomplicated, and the way that my room had one wall that was rounded without sharp edges and corners. My toes grew to love the sensation of stepping onto cold, smooth tile squares. I never had a neck ache from sleeping the wrong way, and my back had never been more supported. I suspect this is because box springs are non-existent and I never tossed or turned.

For an entire year, I slept easily, and dreamed often.

Now I am back in California, and I no longer hear the school whistles outside my window. The birds seem different, with less character, and my alarm clock now sits beside my pillow. Carpet is more fashionable than tile, and I can't get away with only having white sheets and not a blanket. The weather is colder here. Strangely, I wake up to one of the most beautiful views in the world with a tree right outside my window, but I find myself mourning the loss of skyscrapers. Every morning on the way to work I crack the knots out of my neck.

I keep trying to give myself the well-meant advice I know to be correct. "Soon it will pass, it will feel like home, You are where you meant to be".

I hold onto the words, praying that they are true.

Because for that moment, I would give anything to wake up to those blank, white walls once more.