The Opposite of Wanderlust

Ode to the familiar

My sister is leaving, again. I am one of 4 sisters and the only one who still lives in our hometown of Ottawa. It feels as though my entire adult life has been my sisters telling me they’re moving away, on repeat. Sometimes they come back, and then they go again. Today’s post is me processing. There will be more processing, and more posts, coming.

I have been thinking a lot about being and belonging, about where you consider home, and what the answer is to the question of “Where are you from?” My answer has always vehemently been Ottawa, but why is that? Is it because it’s the place I’ve lived the longest, the place I was born? What about my parents, who chose Ottawa? What about my sisters, who were born here and made other places home? I want to unpack all of this, but today I’m mostly wondering aloud, and grieving the move, and bringing you along with me on the whole journey.

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I like to think of myself as worldly

but I only have memories of living in
2 different cities
separated by a highway that runs between them
for 2 hours

2 cities in a corner of a country you have to zoom in on
with your fingers
expand the map
to distinguish from each other

I like to think of myself as worldly but my sister
moved to Dubai and then home and then to
Istanbul and then home
and then to Dubai again
and each time
I cried hot tears
at her departure
grieving the loss of my closest confidante of so many years
the loss of my children’s cousins
the loss of our sleepovers and our unplanned visits and our carpools
to hockey to swimming to summer camp at the local mosque to the lake to mama and baba’s house

A friend and I call ourselves
the leftovers because our sisters both up and left
our boring city - the one that fun forgot - the one I love more than any other place
despite its inefficiencies
despite its deadlocked council and non-functioning light rail
despite the mounds of snow we have to shovel our way out of each winter
the 30 below temperatures we have to bear

I ask myself
why do I love this city
with no excitement no wow factor no pizzazz no ancient culture preserved
a logging town on stolen land
and even as I ask
I know the answer is as simple as my love of memories
my love of making new ones where the old ones live

My sisters moved
to California to Dubai to Istanbul to Dubai to London to Cairo
and I stayed home
and missed them
and refused to leave.

Ottawa - Photo by Sandra Ivleva on Unsplash

What is your idea of home? Is it the place you were born, or where you’ve lived for the majority of your life? Or is it defined by something else completely? I’d love to know.

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