A few days ago I returned “home” to Farmington Hills from spending the school year in Mount Pleasant. I’ve seen a few people I haven’t in a while, spent some quality time with my family and so forth and I’ve caught myself riding in the passenger seat of a lot of cars. That may not seem that strange but, to me, it is. Because for so long I was always the one driving my friends around in Farmington Hills. I won “Class chauffeur” in my senior year mock elections if that explains anything..

But today, while my friend Marne was driving me home from B’s house I realized that I’m seeing things in my home town that I’ve never seen before.

Like signs and buildings.
After years of living here followed by years of being away I’m torn between things changing and things staying how they’ve always been.
It could be they just look new to me now.
My memories of this place might be washed out due to nights full of smoking and drinking up at school, who knows?
“Welcome to Farmington Hills” signs have been blurred out by the madness of Mission street in Mount Pleasant.
It’s strange.
Finding ordinary things so unfamiliar.
I don’t live here anymore.
I haven’t in a couple of years and it seems like I’m years away from understanding it all;
The content-ness people display here;
The feeling of being okay with where you are;
The lack of curiosity here.
And here I am,
Dreaded hair,
Boy jeans,
And a significantly evident interest in girls.
I’m searching for the place where I don’t stick out so much.
Where TV isn’t the highlight of conversation.
Where people don’t look at me and assume things they know nothing about.
Where I don’t have to think about what I say or how I dress.
I want to walk around and blend in again, like I used to when I lived here.
But I don’t want to be mixed in here.
It’s just proof, to me, that I’ve grown too large for this city.
I’m expanding more than the people here,
So here I am,
Sitting here at one in the morning,
Like I’m the one who has a problem.
Like I’m weird for wanting to explore.
Difference seems to be frowned upon here.
It gets harder and harder for me to be here.
I wander.
Far away to a place I can only hope exists.
Where is it?
Where can I just…be?
It’s hard,
Being here with relatives that I don’t seem to relate to.
It’s strange to me,
Being here,
In my childhood stomping grounds.
I’ve walked these grassy yards before and I’m certain that I want more.
I’m seeing things I feel I’ve never seen before but it still feels old,
Stale, even.

When I was in Mount Pleasant I was a tad nervous about what my summer holds. I received a position as a camp counselor at a camp for people with special needs in Empire, Colorado. I leave on Wednesday and don’t get back until the second week of August. That’s a decent amount of time to be away from everything I know, so it scared me a bit, however, being here, now, in this town, I am beyond thrilled to get out and go somewhere new.


One thought on “Being…”home”

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