4th of July

I was 17 when I spent my first American Independence Day out of the country. I was deliriously happy to be where I was and too distracted to feel sentimental about being away from home. That is, until that night. I joined a big group of Americans at the Hard Rock Cafe Paris and somewhere between the crusty french fries and blasting ‘Paradise City’ I felt it. I missed home. I missed feeling understood. I missed my Grandma’s broccoli bacon salad. I missed watching the fireworks over the Columbia River. And I missed my country. It didn’t stop me. The next day I was still insanely happy to be there but the dull ache stayed with me until the landing gear hit the tarmac on the right side of the Atlantic.

This year was another Independence Day out of the country. Again we joined a big group of Americans. We rode the MRT out to a friend’s for a BBQ. The boys made their own American flags along the way. When they were finished they both started waving their flags yelling “U.S.A.! U.S.A.!” They had lots of practice cheering after watching the U.S. play in the World Cup. But since we were on a train full of Singaporeans we tried to get them to save the excitement for the party.

After the BBQ we headed to the American Naval Base where the American Association of Singapore was throwing an real American celebration. Live bands, balloons for the kids, fried chicken, hot dogs, burgers, even yummy burritos (which are hard to come by around here). We didn’t stay long because of the rain. Broken flip flops sloshing through mud doesn’t help either.

But we did see the fireworks. Big, loud and beautiful. And I felt it again. I missed home. I missed my family. I missed feeling understood. I missed Costco. And I missed my country. But the ache was different this time.

This time it was expected. Even a little required. And can I say refined?

We boarded a plane for the U.S. a couple days later. Geared up and excited to see our family and to just. be. there. And just like everyone says, it did feel really good when the customs guy at the airport handed me back my passport and said “Welcome home.”