I'm not sure what homesick means anymore. It's a longing, but not for a place, no one place... at least as far as I can tell. It's people, yes, ... but also feelings, smells, tastes, memories and daydreams, sensations that no one has ever found a word to describe. It's comfort, but familiar discomfort as well. It's where sadness is cradled and soothed, where happiness is exalted. Homesickness is a longing, and for me a longing for something seemingly ever out of reach. I crossed the ocean, and the whole issue became more complicated than I could have imagined. Home isn't where you hang your hat... that I do know.
This is where I live. It's an area called Tankerton in the town of Whitstable. It's in Kent County in the Southeast of England, an hour and fifteen minutes from central London by train. It's a place that some people call home.
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