Sunday mornings, when they are unencumbered by duties, are one of my favourite times of the week – as opposed to Sunday evenings, which have historically been weighed down by the imminence of work or school… bummer. I have fond memories of those rare free Sunday mornings when I was younger: getting up at a leisurely hour and going out with my parents for Sunday brunch (café mocha and a short stack of blueberry and bacon flapjacks… mmm), then browsing the bookstores and CD shops or poking about in antique shops and flea markets. Sunday afternoons were for Sunday lunch – Greek food if my friends invited me over, shwarmas if we were at the flea market, and if we were home and my mom was cooking, a leg of lamb, perfectly cooked and redolent of rosemary, roast potatoes on the side, or jambalaya, or tomato bredie in winter.
I remember the food and I remember the music of Sundays. In the CD shops and on the radio I discovered Youssou N’Dour and Cesaria Evora and the Buena Vista Social Club; Eastern Mosaic gave me a taste for Bollywood music that I have never quite managed to overcome. Good times – in memory a golden time of relaxed learning and exploration.
And now I live in Japan. And I miss foreign cultures. It seems a little bizarre, but culture in Japan, for the most part, is a dichotomy of Japanese and Foreign. And here, foreign culture can roughly be labelled “American”, and mostly comprises things like Krispy Kreme and Starbucks and Lady Gaga. Not that I don’t like the occasional Krispy Kreme and Starbucks (and I have been known to hum along to Poker Face), but after a while, it gets incredibly boring, and you start to long for something fresh and authentic.
And so when people ask if I get homesick… well no, I don’t miss home. I miss the world.