A big question

I am ... da bomb.

Every once in a while I get asked, “Would you go back to China?”

That answer has changed over time.

A few weeks after I came back, someone asked me that question and I said, “I’d go back in a heartbeat.”  Maybe it’s because I had a job in China. I’d made good friends in China. I’d gotten used to life in China. 

And in many ways, life in Canada was turning into the scary bit. I was back at my mom’s house after being on my own for so long. I was unemployed. I was jetlagged.  I was burnt out. And I was inadvertently annoying people in the supermarket because I’d forgotten my (Canadian) manners.

But when I was asked that question two nights ago, I hesitated.

I’m not closing that door; that’s not my job. Truth is, I cringe a little at the idea.

Let me take you back to when I got off the plane at Pearson Airport in Toronto about a year and a half ago. 

Some of you have heard me say before that I felt … relief.

And I don’t think I was necessarily willing to admit that to anyone at that point, because it sounded wrong to say.  It sounded like I was criticizing someone or something.

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true. 

I felt relief at being back in a country I understood. Relief because I didn’t feel lost about 50% - make that 70% - of the time. Relief because I could speak the language. Relief because I was no longer straddling two continents. Relief because I wasn’t constantly on my guard against being cheated, misunderstood, and not feeling all-around … safe.  It’s hard to explain unless you’ve been through it. And you don’t necessarily sense it until you leave. I’m not even sure what I mean by it. 

But that doesn’t make it any less real.

My two years in China were the best and worst two years of my life.  There was a lot to get used to.  There was a lot of moving around, both in and out of the country. There were many life changes that I and loved ones experienced, two of which had me flying to back to Toronto twice in a span of 5 months.

It takes a toll on a person.

And then there’s the “getting used to the familiar” thing again that I think I’m afraid of.  Just because you know a place you’ve been away from doesn’t mean it’s easy to settle back in again. Honestly, it’s only been within the last month or two that I’ve felt motivated to just dream about possibilities and actually get excited about the future here, for however long I end up here.

But I do know this: I want to settle in for a bit, enjoy what’s around me. I don’t want to jump on a plane and deliberately allow myself to be discombobulated at a time when I just don’t feel up to it. As much as I like the idea of travelling to new locations, and I’m definitely not against picking up and moving on to some new country at some point in my life, I’m more than okay with the idea of not seeing the inside of an airplane for the foreseeable future.

Honestly, I’ve toyed with the idea of going back, even for a visit.  China is a fabulous country and I barely scratched the surface of the riches contained within it.  And despite all I’ve said about being relieved, I did figure out how to function there, so it would probably be easier for me to go there than to, say, Japan.

But right now, the idea tires me out more than it excites me.

So will I ever go back to China? God knows.  And He isn’t telling.  Yet.

And I’m just fine with that.