I moved to Edinburgh in January 2016, year of the great Dumpster Fire (first of many). While the move was a lifelong dream come true, I was away from my friends and family — most importantly, my husband.
I was homesick, but not in the way I imagined I would be. I wanted to go home, even though I felt like in Europe (and at that point, Scotland was part of Europe; as of this publication, it isn't), I was more home than I'd ever been. I missed my old room in my parents' house. I missed my records and tapes, my dolls and jellies and popbeads. I missed my friend from across the street.
While most of those things can still be had (thanks to eBay and internet communication), reminiscing isn't the same as living it. Maybe they never were the way I imagine them. My hometown is so different now, when I go back for a visit, I barely know where I am. People change, toys that retailed for six dollars now cost a hundred.
So I needed to pay homage to that time in my life, even if only to listen to my 80s playlist on repeat.
Here's to being homesick for people and places that no longer exist.
YOU ARE READING
Recent expat Zoë Benton stumbles upon a manuscript that takes her to a whole new world. Literally. After a marathon reading session and a wave of dizziness, she finds herself under a pile of boxes in a record store basement in 1986 - 30 years in the...