Homesick

I went to the mall yesterday. Living in the country as I do, a visit to the mall can be a unique experience. Strolling down the pedestrian lane, your senses are constantly bombarded. Glittering lights dazzle your eyes, and a wall of cinnamon roll scent entices your nostrils. Bold signs of flashy models stare you in the face, while a loud beat beckons to you from the shuttered Abercrombie store.

For once in my life, I had reason to visit the mall twice in one week. The first time was fun enough; a little thrill of independence tickled me as I strode through the mall alone, wandering into whatever stores I felt like exploring as I killed time and priced shampoo. As usual I was gently harassed by the salespeople at the Dead Sea kiosk. Oh, those lovably annoying Israelis! They don't seem to understand that us New Englanders prefer to keep to ourselves and ignore one another. However, I respect them for remaining unabashed and themselves.

I remember one particular time (I may have even blogged about it, but it was so long ago that I wouldn't make you go back and read my atrocious fifteen-year-old writing in my archives) I was striding down the mall minding my own business. As I passed a Dead Sea kiosk, I heard one of their salesmen giving his "shpeal" to some potential customers. He was showcasing their once-famous buffing block thingummy--the rectangular object that has various sides that do different things for your fingernails. Anyway, as I passed by, he was waving his buffing block vigorously to emphasize a point, and as he did so he lost his grip and it flew over his shoulder--and bounced off my nose! It was a trifle embarrassing. I think he sort of apologized, but he acted as if he thought it was hilarious. I can't blame him too much.

As I left the shampoo store this time, I was accosted by a couple of these blessed Dead Sea henchmen.

"For you, for  you!" An Asian girl called to me, holding a tiny packet of lotion out to me. "It's a gift!"

I was wiser than that. As soon as I accepted it they would want to give me a lengthy sales pitch. I needed to hurry and catch up with my mom just then because she wanted to head home, so I politely declined and strode on.

"You dropped something!"

"You dropped something!" The girl and Middle Eastern guy called after me. I turned around to see them pointing at the ground. I retraced my steps for ten yards, scanning the territory to see what I had misplaced.

They sprung their trap. "You dropped lotion! It's free!" The girl exclaimed.

I was a little bit shocked by their deliberate deception, but it was amusing enough that I wasn't mad.

"How old are you?" the guy asked me. This hardly seemed like an appropriate question for a salesman to ask. However, I felt more comfortable with a girl there, and since I had no reason to suspect I'd see them again, I figured there was no harm in telling him.

When they heard, they seemed duly surprised. For whatever reason, the majority of people I meet these days seem to think I have the doll face of a twelve or fifteen-year-old, even though I've been out of high school for a few years now. I suppose small bones and a sheltered lifestyle don't help me look older either, even though I'm just a little taller than average.

"How many boyfriends do you have?"

Watch it, buster!

"None."

"Where do you live?"

Nice try.

"In New Hampshire."

"Where?"

"Aways away."

"How far?"

"An hour."

"It doesn't matter. Wherever you live, I will come there."

I didn't take him too seriously, but I didn't want to let him think that I would go along with him if he were serious. "That's okay," I told him. It was my kind but firm dismissal.

The girl read my unease instantly. "He's kidding," she assured me. "Let me see your nails . . . I'll do them for you, it will take two seconds!"

Yeah right. "No thanks, I really need to go."

"Two seconds!" She was desperate. But I was more desperate; besides, they had held me up long enough. My mom was disappearing in the distance. I extricated myself, much to their disappointment, and marched away, resolved not to let them trick me again.

A few days later I returned to the mall to print some pictures, and I wandered around again to slay time. I made a point of avoiding the area of my last Dead Sea kiosk encounter, but I still managed to pass another one anyway. If I had been in a chattier mood perhaps I would have engaged them in conversation, but being the New England stickler that I am, I declined all of their offers of lotion or pretended I didn't hear them, even though one of the salesmen was beaming his most gorgeous Middle Eastern smiles at me. Yeah, I truly love Middle Easterners, but sometimes they're a little too friendly for comfort. Especially guys.

As I wandered around the mall for the second time, I became acutely aware of the unique atmosphere of each store. The Dead Sea kiosks weren't the only ones demonstrating a different culture. Christopher and Banks lulled you with soft, classy music that blended well with their classy styles and carpeted floor. Forever 21 played lively pop music that made you feel like a hot movie star ruffling through their bright gaudy styles. Since I do not consider myself to be a hot movie star, I declined the part they thrust upon me and slid out a minute after sliding in.

 Bath and Body Works played bouncy melodies that kept you hopping from one scented soap and lip gloss to the next, dodging the attractive hawk-like clerks. I had bounced my way out of the shiny pink store in a matter of seconds--perhaps not what had they intended. If you peered through the slitted shutter eyes of Hollister you could see a sinister room setting off sharp Hollister clothes in wee spotlights. A suave shirtless guy guarded the entrance, even though he was helplessly pasted to the wall. I suppose to the cool it must seem as if his smooth voice is chanting, "Come, come, come, come, come" to the beat of the music, but to me it clearly said, "Keep--out--keep--out--keep--out--keep--out." I hurried past stores like this. I know Hollister and Abercrombie are cool and popular, but a presentation like that gives me nothing but the creeps. Their dark interiors and shuttered windows make me feel as if they've got something to hide, and the watchdog--er, male model at the entrance does a great job of scaring me away.

In Old Navy I feel a little more at ease. The music is peppy but not sensual, and the simpler styles and cement-look floors make me feel like a normal, common American. In JC Penny I felt almost at home. Here at least the music isn't domineering, and there is so much inside that I feel like I can let myself be swallowed by the clothes and not have anyone take notice of me. I am unexposed and at peace. Sure, I wouldn't be caught dead in most of the styles I see flitting about (not sure what's wrong with me), but at least I'm comfortable looking at them.

One mall, but a host of different cultures. One mall representing one country. Call me odd, but I felt as if I were in a foreign world. I saw many sights and sounds that were all American, but I didn't feel at home. Is this just because I'm a country girl? I doubt it.

As I watched the Summer Olympics parade today, I was reminded of the variety in our own world. Even as an ESL teacher trainee living in Boston for four weeks, or as a casual tourist to Europe, Asia, and Australia, I am always excited to see and experience different cultures. There is so much variety in our world, it's stunning!

One world, but a host of different cultures. Call me odd, but no matter how much I love each country I've visited (Norway, Israel, Australia, Sweden, Canada) or love the students I've taught from different countries (Russia, Turkey, Japan, China, Morocco, Brazil, France, Italy, Haiti), I've never felt truly at home in any one of them. Is this because I'm an American? I doubt it. I've walked down the lane of an American mall and I haven't felt at home in my own country. Why is this?

Could it be that this world is not our home? Could it be that we were created for another place beyond this life, a place that is so real and bursting with life that this world is only a shadow in comparison? And every day that we come closer to it, we sense it a little bit more. The sweet smell of the woods or the cheerful color of a little flower remind us that there's more to look forward to. Other things seem vaguely familar, or they stir us for reasons we can't explain.The close heart fellowship of another believer you've just met. The warm smile of a stranger. The blaring majesty of the "Hallelujah Chorus." The inaudible whisper of comfort from One who hears your heart's deepest cries.

All of these are glimpses of Home.

And when we feel like a foreigner in our own country, maybe that can remind us of our Home as well.

In this case, it's good to be Homesick.