Come on

Sarah dragged me to the Tower Records in the local mall tonight, and while I was waiting for her to choose from her armload of CDs, I had a profound moment.

I stumbled across Sufjan Stevens' Illinoise.

I picked it up and wanted to cry.

Seeing that CD made me so unbearably homesick, I couldn't even put it into words. I even took a picture of it, trying to make myself laugh that the Japanese would ever listen to Sufjan Stevens (I zoomed in on the Japanese sleeve).

But when I had to put it down, I kept hesitating. It reminded me of Chicago, of my friends, my family, of being in a place where I could understand things without having to try.

It reminded me of Joe.

So I finally put it back on the shelf, but not after staring at it so long that my eyes hurt. I never knew how draining homesickness could be, but now I feel like I've run a marathon. And the sad thing is, there is an easy way out, but it's not one I'm going to take. I'm not going to jump ship and go home early; I can't. I've invested too much time, effort, and money in this. During the day, when my life is structured with class and other students, it's infinitely easier.

At night, though, when I'm tired and shown such a small slice of home... it's more than I can handle, and there's absolutely no place to go that isn't full of people. Everyone here sleeps with the windows open; you can hear everything. Sarah's always in the room, and the walls there are paper-thin. If you make a sound, five people hear it. There's literally no place to go to be alone. It's too much to handle sometimes.

I know this will pass, but God I miss home right now.