“Home”

When I actually let myself think about it, I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that coming back to America was going to be like this.

So far the oddest thing about being back is that my identity seems to be hiding itself from me. I am sorting through my room. Combining Japan-clothes with Old-Life-clothes. Reading old letters. Is it odd that I’ve saved every love letter ever written to me? And that I actually read them sometimes? It’s not a very good idea. Stirs up a lot of shit. Probably contributes to me always feeling that I’ve gotten sucked back into the past when I am here in Montana. Never knowing which time frame of myself I’m representing. I look around my room and am sort of astounded by what’s here. A cookie sheet is hanging on the back of my door, with magnetic poetry words all over it. I put that up in high school. Probably freshman or sophomore year. And there are all of these pictures from my past trips and there’s just this immense feeling of separation and yet condensation of all the past selves into one, just me, Clea-now, same as always but absolutely different. I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job of explaining this. Here… in Japan I had the very opposite feeling.

In Japan, I felt like I was constantly hauling the different facets of my self around in closed little boxes. Opening a box here and there to let different pieces out during different situations, of course. But for the most part there was only a tiny piece of me showing at any given time, such that I don’t feel like anyone I met there actually has any idea who the hell Clea Stalmaster is.

(Barring Alex, of course. He is well-versed in the Clea Stalmaster.)

But now I’m home and all of the boxes are open and I’m not sure which ones to close or leave open at all anymore.

Does this make any sense? This isn’t what I thought (reverse) culture shock was going to feel like.

I suddenly have no need for the bag that I brought with me to school every single day. It was one of the most important objects in my world in Japan, but here it has sat, slumped off onto the floor when I arrived and not touched since.

I just feel scattered, disconcerted, bemused, and a tad bit paralyzed.

I do have pictures of Fuji. And a story. But it’s for another day.