Am I “Exotic”?
In Japan, I am the exotic one.
In Japan, I am the exotic one.
You notice that steam curling over a hot bowl of food or cup of coffee never looks more enticing than directly after you come home from a walk and look like the vintage Campbell’s Soup snowman.
When you’ve been away, your timeline gets fuzzy. You can’t remember if the neighbors next to your grandparents cut down the tree in their front yard two years ago or ten years ago.
See, airports are my happy place. I’m in love with them. I’m the woman who shows up at least three hours before her flight — international or domestic, it doesn’t matter — just to spend a bit of extra time in the terminal.
One of my favorite quotes about traveling is “I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list.”
If home is a place that calls to us, what happens when we have multiple homes, then?
Google “untranslatable words” and you’ll be greeted with dozens of lists of the “top” foreign words that just can’t be translated into English (or any other tongue, for that matter, if English isn’t your first language).
My love affair with Whedon started in high school. My mum would watch Angel, and I’d usually watch from our kitchen table while doing my homework.
So here’s my proposition. Let it be my turn next. I don’t mind waiting in the wings; I’m patient. Just remember my name when you’re casting about the cosmos looking for someone new to drag along on adventures.
I hope you keep up that strength you’re using to keep silent, because if you don’t, I’m not sure that I can keep myself in check. Please don’t tell me. Don’t make me answer.