9 months.

Nine months ago I left the center of the periphery to come to the periphery of the center. Nine months later a sunny, 19-degree afternoon seems, for the first time in my life – warm.

My impressions so far of upstate New York – Binghamton and the triple cities, to be accurate – are paradoxical.

Here, an air of great openness, of expanse and a streamlined presentation of arbor, dominates. At times mitigating, at times stark, bleak, barren; oppressive. It is immensely beautiful yet frightening: so are the factories covered in metallic rust and crumbling wooden houses. Despite this long-forgotten unfamiliarity of an American town, the torrid rain and overcast skies reminds me of home sharply. That is why I welcome them – as always. It is now spring. The air is clean as ever, subtly decorated with aromas provided by awakening flora. But for 19 degrees it is warmer than I ever imagined.

The trip back to the periphery will not be a trip back home. Where I once called home will never be and has never been the same. Home is now alien, the alien, home. Or vice versa.

I await my departure.

4/18/09