...and also with you...

I look up from my book and see the friendly, eager, and unjudgementally inquisitive eyes of a long haired dachshund. Looks like this are rare when you're a foreigner in a strikingly mono-ethnic land. In that moment, it hits me. This mall feels like home. Alone in the empty morning, neat contemporary architecture and uncharacteristically demure colors accented with dominantly English signage have stirred in my subconscious memories of the grove in Orange, Irvine, and bits of either Third Street. The few early morning stragglers aren't unusual, in fact they're more of a representative sample, especially for OC malls. But, when one or two turns to seven or eight, logic can't help itself, and refuses to remain suspended when faced with such evidence. Especially when, upon closer review, thier features yield no trace of Korean or Vietnamese or Thai or Cambodian.

Not even the incoherent mumblings of the televisions advertising movies can ruin the atmosphere (so long as there aren't too many unfamiliar faces around). Not when it's chatter is peppered with American blockbusters, and the speakers overhead continue with that stereotypical starbucks mix of smooth jazz, the odd vocal number easily understood. The mirage remains intact until a shopkeep steps out and noisily announces something in Japanese that I translate to "you're not in California anymore, Toto" I can't even pick up on any articles or particles, except for the odd "-mashte" or "-zaiy'ymas". Not that that helps.

I know what's wrong. I want to be alone. I want to be left alone. Here, with my Lolita (my paper bound travelling companion), in this mall, a double of home. I want to be left alone with my English. I'm sick of being a stranger, of being strange, an alien. Here, in English, I can explain, excuse, even apologize myself. Go away, leave me be, don't say anything. I want to keep this illusion alive. I want to continue to believe that I can open my mouth, and be understood. Understood. Effortlessly. Freely. Completely. Understood. All the complexities and nuances, the clever and the sarcastic, even the unsaid. Not just linguistically, but entirely. And if I can't have that, then leave me in peace to disappear into the vile skin of HH, and fill my periphery with the guise of a sunny Southern California.

I guess I'm homesick, not just for home, but for expression and understanding.

(post script disclaimers:
1 - If you haven't read Lolita with the help of a comp lit major, lived in LA, or been forced to pay attention to Korean/Japanese/English linguistics half my ravings probably won't make sense. My apologies.
2 - This was written in Japan, where I was broke, a touch ill, and wishing anybody spoke any language I knew)