Why did the Indian cross the road?

In a few weeks, I shall be whizzing back to her for a short visit and I am getting the definite jitters. Would United States of America also be the way I remember her? Would she be the way I left her?

After making it habit of leaving home(s), I always treasure the trip back. I have been writing fairly regularly about the turmoil of emotions each time I visit India. But this would be first time I am anticipating a trip to a home that I chose to be mine. I am also in the business of systematically romanticizing everything I leave behind. I remember clearly how for the first two years I was waxing eloquent about Indian cultural superiority in Michigan before I turned my ball cap around, adorned casual clothing and embraced the Midwest like a wolverine.

Here, in Germany, I have been constantly defending her at lunch. It was harder since Germans tend to be well read, but the facts gloss over everything that is unique about America. I had always seen here more than being defined by Bush Politics, world police, empty spaces, capitalism and obese people drinking a liter of pop.

This massive land has fascinated me endlessly. One needs time in getting to know her people. But her spirit either soaks you in or churns you out almost instantly. Her empty spaces and vast open lands are not alpine pretty but paint a horizon of infinite possibilities. There is easiness to the system. Politeness is distributed freely. Everyone seems hungry for success even though they might define it through monetarily or materialistic means. Almost everything seems possible and no problem seems too big. There is brash arrogance coupled with innocent ignorance of the world outside. Ambition is norm, even if it at times it is misguided. It is a country that turns a blind eye to a 14 trillion dollar debt but respects every human life and its need for freedom. Residents aliens like me were privy to her benefits and acutely aware of her short comings. I too struggled on many nights. Cried in small apartments and froze sold in Michigan winters. I felt guilty taking vacation and gauged myself at work with the wrong metrics. I had my heart broken there, friendships strained and optimism challenged at times. But at the no point, was I able to blame her entirely. I was merely growing up; she was just the catalyst.

I sincerely look forward to the drawl and scowl of the immigration officer at the Detroit airport. I can’t wait to be polite to everyone and have them do the same. The wide Michigan roads with obvious expansion joints and potholes will only make me smile. There is a different cuisine in store for me at lunch every day. Stores with reasonable prices will make my German Euro look bigger and less taxed. I yearn to strain my eyes over the flatness and the corn fields and bask in fall weather and her falling leaves. There will be football in the air, stadiums roaring and barbecues grilling meat just right. Water will come with ice and wouldn’t require me to pay for it. I plan to walk in to the Starbucks franchise and buy not so very coffee for a lot of money and enjoy it without having to nudge people away. My space bubble is likely to expand!

When one romanticizes a land left behind, he or she gets away with because he never really goes back to find out if the poetry faltered. But this time I must neutralize the view and look at her squarely. Come clean with our past and be honest with each other. Evaluate the romance with the realities and lack of public transport. And understand that of all the foster countries, would she be one to love me back?