Home

This week almost every night I've dreamt that either I was home or that I was for some unexplainable reason my family was in France with me.

I'd like to think that I've mastered the home sickness that reduced me to a blubbering pile of jelly that first week in Strasbourg, but apparently my subconscious is rearing its head with the approach of Christmas - and home.

What is home sickness anyway? In French they call it, "avoir le mal du pays" (literally "pain for your country") and I never really understood in movies why people sometimes would rather stay with their people than be with the one they loved or explore a whole new world. I kind of get it now, but its too hard to explain... like being completely comfortable in your own skin, that's what being in Canada for me is like. I think no matter how long I was here, I would always feel like an outsider, constantly comparing what's better and worse in this country compared to my own.

And what is missing people? At first I thought that missing people was merely the fear that they (or you) would change while you were gone. Maybe there is that, but maybe its missing the comfort of being with people who've known you forever. That feeling of perfect happiness in your own skin.

When we were at Vimy they have a line that runs through the path to the monument, the divide between French and Canadian soil. I savoured the moment before stepping over. And though it was just as cold and miserable outside, though logically I knew the divide was merely a formality between governments and on a piece of paper, for some reason standing on Canadian soil was comforting for me. Like standing on a little piece of home.

I never believed in that stuff before. How can you miss an entire country? But being in France has made me a patriot. I have never felt more like a Canadian than I have this year in Europe. It has grown from a nationality to an identity.