Music to my ears.

For four weeks I've heard English every day.  Only English.  When we arrived at the Dallas airport on our way back to Budapest, the sounds began to change.  Spanish speakers sitting next to us in the terminal.  Hindi spoken in the next row on the plane.  Arabic behind us.  We were getting closer to home, where the linguistic variety is comforting.  Closer to a place where multiple languages are heard daily.  Not always understanding every word spoken around me feels like home.  I like that.

Back "Home"

First song heard in the US... When We All Get To Heaven.  Sung with a very strong Southern twang through the speakers of the Dallas airport.

Majority of travelers on the plane... Teenagers coming home from mission trips wearing Jesus T-shirts.

Voices heard while boarding the plane to US... Lots of English.  Lots of LOUD English.

Grocery shopping... Had to go back to the cereal aisle twice because there were just too many choices.

Happiest purchase on Day One - Oil of Olay Face Moisturizer with SPF.

Number of times I've said Kosonom instead of Thank You... None!  I've caught myself about four times today before I actually said it.

One of those things you notice... No Hungarian words on the internet today.

Best part of being in the US... Seeing family of course!

Weirdest part of being in the US... With each visit back, I feel more and more like I just don't quite "fit" here.

Quote of the day... "Y'all are world citizens." I'll take that as a compliment!

"Home"

Where is home?  We had this conversation at the faculty lunch table this week, laughing at the irony of the word "home" for expats.

Home is Budapest.
Home is "back home" where our families live.
Home is where our community is.
Home is where we once lived.
Home can be said for two different places in the same sentence.
Home can be our permanent address where we have never actually lived.
Or the state on our driver's license.
Home is where there are people who love us.

This summer we're going "back home" to visit family.  "Home" meaning the U.S.  I'm not even making it up to Alaska this time and still it's called "home".  Then we're coming "home" to Budapest, where we live and work and go about our regular routines.

Home.
It's a funny word.