Saturday, December 4, 2010

I am a Mongolian

I have given this a lot of thought. It would appear that I am secretly Mongolian. Lets review the facts.

1. I love things that are felted (who invented felt? The Mongolians)

2. I like goats milk (I am presuming here that Mongolians kept goats)

3. I lived in a tent for a year there (Mongolians did too!)

4. I appear to be living a nomadic existence (Mongolians, it is well know, were nomads)

5. I took a facebook quiz and it said so (Admittedly the Mongolians did not have facebook)

So, Mom and Dad, I am not Irish-Italian-German, as previously believed. Rather I am Mongolian, and this clearly explains why I have spent the past three years of my life moving. I am simply following the rootless ways of my people. I suppose a case could be made that I am a Gypsy too. A Mongolian Gypsy. If such a thing is possible.

There are days when I am happy I am a Mongolian (Gypsy). On these days I like to imagine where I am going to go next. Or how many places I will have lived before I finally settle down. Usually these are days when I feel like I could go anywhere and do anything. Perfect freedom. I think these days are also temperature dependent. There were quite a few of these days in August, September, even October. But it is December now, and it is cold. The glory of being a Mongolian dims in the cold.

More often I have noticed that I am not happy to be a Mongolian (Gypsy). I want to go back to being a nice settled Irish person. They liked for whole families to live in one house for hundreds of years, you know. They are a people who do not relish change. Can anyone imagine that? Having your kitchen table be exactly where your great-grandmother placed it? I don't even have the table.

Unfortunately I have chosen the life of a Mongolian. At least for right now. So I have given a lot of thought in order to decipher how to be happy with this path that I have chosen. What is it that we really miss when we move around? Security? A sense of place? Belonging? Probably all these things, and maybe even more. To sum it all up: "Home".

I have noticed a certain ambiguity amongst my friends when they refer to going "home". I am going "home" they might say, and you would still have no idea where they were going to be that weekend. So you are forced to ask "Home, like, home-home?" Meaning, obviously, to their parents house. "Or home, like home-here?" meaning where ever they happen to be that moment. Frighteningly enough I once heard a friend reply to this question with "No, like home-college", which brings another level to it that I refuse to contemplate.

Making a new home in the gray light of December is a much more daunting thought than making one in golden September. But I am going home-home in less than two weeks. And the one really nice thing about being a Mongolian is that the non-Mongolians in your life are always happy to see you.


  1. We will indeed be happy to have our Mogolian daughter home. Hey! It's ok, I'm Japanese!

  2. Apparently I'm Jewish because my stomach demanded I make latkes all week though I did not remember it was CHANUKA! (I just like the C).

  3. Also, see you at home-home on December 19th (unless you want to come spend the 18th in DC--one day is totally worth 8 hours driving right?)

  4. My favorite line: "Making a new home in the gray light of December is a much more daunting thought than making one in golden September."

    You, my dear, are a poet.

  5. Okay, if you don't blog, and we never talk, how do I know you are still alive? Have you been eaten by zombies? Have aliens invaded Missoura? Are you trapped inside some sort of time shift, or have you had a transporter malfunction???