TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
Home is provisional. Some people can live for 70 years in one place and never feel at home. Others can arrive tomorrow and always feel they are from here, now and forever. I have felt at home only in the relationships I made in a place, in the affinities and struggles I shared with certain people--friends, roommates, lovers. So there are cities of a certain vintage that I call home: the Berkeley where I was a student, shy and curious; the Oakland where I turned 25, broke and still questing; the Galway of heartbreak and revival. Each place summoned my spirit and dipped my character in fire, and I came out, something else, freer, if never completely freed, from inheritance and background, from the bullies and defeats of the past, the sorrow of the parents, and the disavowal by brother. Home is that self I take with wherever in the world I go.