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Touching American soil for the first time in over six months is what many might describe as a homecoming. But it is odd what many moths of living as an expat will do to shift the sands of home.

San Francisco still feels like freedom and the bite of Habanero still warms my heart. But the peaks and valleys of non-stop English feel overwhelming and often American sensibilities seem somehow off.

Some moments are brimming with home–the taste of salsa verde and the smell of my grandmother’s home, but others set me a drift in strange seas. Stores that were once familiar seems strange  and changes to people and places appear to have accrued too quickly for reason.

Vacation and home have met at last and it turns out that not everything about my homeland brings me home.