Every time I come home, I'm a different person than when I was last here. I exist, change, and grow older on a track that runs parallel to this one, the one on which my loved ones travel.
Although, maybe the tracks aren't parallel after all. They intersect when I come to visit.
During these visits, I remember who I was - who I am. My loved ones see and hear me, and note the little ways in which I've changed. I return the favor. I am a full-fledged member of my environment. It's hard to say whether or not I still belong (not quite?), but I am strangely capable of interacting with and influencing the world around me. I feel fully human.
My friend Melis and I agreed before I arrived that we would explore weird places in Connecticut (they are numerous). Yesterday, we climbed up a hill that was covered in overgrowth and brush, and we laid our eyes on Holy Land USA. Holy Land is an abandoned religious theme park. It was strange before it fell into disrepair (or so I've heard); it's downright creepy now. We weren't prepared for how hard it would be to get to. I made it in sandals and a skirt, my purse flung across my shoulder. There were times when I lost my balance and feared I might not find it again, but I managed, and managed well.
And I realized that, if I could, I'd spend every day trespassing.
