Hillary, Alex, and me last Thanksgiving
I’ve been so homesick I could cry. I’ve been craving my friends in Houston. I’ve been wanting to check in my friend who lost her brother last month. I haven’t seen Ms. Kimmy in a while. I can’t wait for our girly date. I can’t wait for tonight, and having a cup of the best hot chocolate of my life (Chocolate Bar in Houston, trust me) with Hillary and Alex. And then again on Friday with Sarah. I can’t wait to see my parents and eat momma food. I’m excited about dim sum with my family on Sunday. I’m looking forward to listening to my dad talk over glasses of Scotch. I’m crawling out of my skin excited!
There’s something magical about picking up where you left things with your oldest friends. Friends who know where you came from and are coming from. We’ve all cultivated separate grown-up lives and reunions kind of bring us back to the roots of ourselves. At least for me they do.
Back in college, my roommate of three years and I had a running inside joke at her expense. She had this cheesy writing class and the last line in one of her essays she wrote, “It says home to me.” And her teacher ate it up despite how cheesy we thought it was. So even now, when something makes us feel so at home and at peace, we’ll half jokingly and half seriously say, “It says home to me.” Then we follow it with giggles, or if it was me who said it, she’ll curse at me for making fun of her. I tell you this because all the things I’m looking forward to about going to Houston, “say home to me.”
Houston, I’ll see you tonight! Insallah. (God willing in Arabic. I say “Insallah” a lot in real life.)