all in the family.

My family asks me here, tonight at the dinner table, after six weeks of living in France and almost four weeks of living in Paris, "Are you still homesick?"
The first time they asked me if I was homesick, it was the beginning of my second day living with them. They were basically strangers, basically strange, but they had to decided to take me and the other student who was living here at the time (a woman about my age from Japan) on a picnic and a promenade by the Seine. It was a gorgeous fall day, just the endings of summer and just the beginnings of fall, cool enough to wear a cardigan but not cold enough for a sweater, cool enough for a scarf but no hat or gloves in sight, and they unpacked sandwiches which they sent me and the other girl to purchase (asking for a certain type of ham, a certain type of bread) and they unpacked whole tomatoes, one for each of us, and whole apples too. They spread everything out on a blanket they bought on their trip to Morocco (they are always traveling), they sat us down after a long walk on this spot by the Seine, and they asked us quite simply,
"Are you homesick?"
The other girl said no quickly. She didn't need much time to think about it. She had already spent a year in the US learning English, and seemed quite pleased to be far away from her job at Starbucks in Tokoyo and her family of many, many brothers.
I, being the homebody I am, said yes quickly. I am homesick every day.
"When are homesick?"
"...."
"When during the day are you most homesick? Is it a moment? Is it all the time?"
These questions were quite forward for a second day meeting. This wasn't my family after all. These were just strangers, foreign French strangers who were nice enough to take me in but I am still a tenant and I didn't even know what that would mean in this case.
And so I thought about it and I said,
"At Jean-Paul Sartre's grave, I missed my father. Also sometimes before bed, when he is supposed to tell me 'Sleep good' and I always correct him that it's 'Sleep well.' When I walk to school, I miss my mother. She likes the walking, she likes the life that cities have to offer. When I take the Metro, I miss my sister, who mastered navigating NYC the way I never will. Also, when I read stupid news headlines. I miss my stepmother outside of schools, I miss my stepbrother and stepsister when I hear Stevie Wonder playing in stores. And I miss my dog pretty much all the time." I smile. "She's a good dog."
I think this is more than they are looking for, but I tell them anyways. It's not an all the time thing, I explain. But there are little things, little trucs that remind me of my family, and my friends.
"And I always, always miss camp at sunset. Although there's nothing like seeing the sunset with the Eiffel Tower, there's nothing like seeing it in silence over China Lake, knowing that about four dozen hugs are coming and four dozen ticks are probably crawling all over me."
They don't really get this part, so I don't bother explaining it. I keep that one to myself.
So when they ask me this time at dinner,
"Are you still homesick?"
I give them the simple answer.
"No."
But inside I think,
"Each morning, when I get up and spend those moments between my bed and school, I think of nothing else. For my father, I wear comfortable shoes because I know he will be annoyed if he sees that my feet have blisters. For my mother, I make sure that I wear enough layers. 'Are you warm enough?' 'Are you dressing warm enough?' For my sister, I make sure I am carrying the right purse for the day, the one that looks best and holds the right stuff and has just enough room for my notebook, too. For my stepmom, I forget something."

But I am forging a family here, too. It's different. I'm paying them to be my family, and there are times when I feel more like a guest than a family member, but those times are few and far between and we make quite a family here ourselves. My HF with his daily tea which, when I come home to find, I am always invited to. 6pm tea and a discussion about the new bikes parked outside and whatever theater piece I might see this week. My HM, always more serious but also fun to make laugh. I like to see her face light up when she realizes what it is I've just said (you should have seen her face when I told her that I had blue hair this summer. She thanked me for changing it before I arrived.). The new guy in the apartment, our Canadian friend, with his French (which is coming along) and his suits (which make him look very serious but he can't seem to hold a much of a serious look at all). Some nights my HM's children come to dinner, who are in their twenties and speak so quickly that I am proud I can now understand them because three weeks ago I was certain they weren't even speaking in French. When we're all around the table I am learning a way to understand what it is I am hearing, and I am learning to participate, to animate, to take it all in and give something back too.

And so even though it's different, even though it's just a room in just another apartment in Paris, that doesn't mean it doesn't feel like a family dinner when we sit down together each night and discuss our days, discuss Paris, discuss whatever it is might come to the table. And though it isn't home (there's no Butterscotch begging under the table, there's no Dar Williams with Mom in the car), it's more than enough and it's so much more than I expected.