Today, while I was buying a cheeseburger to help strengthen my wife's sanity, I heard a whisper from home. It was a confusing whisper, because I didn't know from where it had come. But didn't I just say that it came from home? Well, I don't know where my home is.
No, I'm not suffering from a bout of short term amnesia, this time. For me, home is a feeling of safety and joy. Home is eternally linked with the good ole days. But I've lived so many places and had so many fond memories I no longer know where to call my home. Is my home in Texas where I was born, or Oklahoma & Louisiana where I spent most of my formative childhood years? Perhaps it is in Arizona where I've lived longer than anywhere else or in California where I fell in love twice, met my wife, and got married.
Whenever someone asks me where I'm from, I don't have an answer. I don't have a home, I have many homes. Home is no longer a place for me, it is a feeling I take with me wherever I go. Where do you call home? What are the qualifications of home for you? Let me know if you have the time.
I ate over eight courses (I lost count after the duck) of authentic, non-westernized Chinese cuisine. It seems that cashew chicken, chop suey and fortune cookies are all American inventions rather than dishes imported from China. The experience was entirely enjoyable, although not completely delicious to my untrained palate.
I consumed steak, ham, duck, squid, sea cucumber, jellyfish, lobster, fried mayonnaise shrimp, and a few things I couldn't make out. Some of them were genuinely delicious and all of them were certainly interesting. I had an amazing evening exploring new dishes, dancing and most importantly watching two very diverse cultures unite in a glorious festival of love and commitment. I love weddings and this was definitely a great one.
