I just ate some Hostess Ho Hos.
They were disgusting.
Then I took a drink from the glass next to me to get the taste out of my mouth, moments before remembering that I’d filled the glass with orange juice. That was even more disgusting.
Ho Hos and orange juice! Stop looking at me that way; I am not your child. It was a mistake. Besides, these are the things you do when you have one week left until you re-expatriate. You visit your favorite store for the last time. You stock up on your favorite deodorant. You prepare to be without. I know what’s coming – the random tug at the lonely heartstrings. Living in Japan, I missed ludicrous Americana like Kraft Mac and Cheese and Hamburger Helper. I repeat: I am not your child. I chose the Ho Hos because they were cheap, and because I’ve a soft spot for all things Hostess since my Hostess Cupcake essay helped me get into graduate school. Gratitude is nice and all, but I shoulda gone with the Ring Dings.
I make a to-do list. I notice that when looking at apartment locations on maps, I’m beginning to recognize neighborhood names. I stuff a trash bag with things for the Salvation Army. I slip things I lovingly collected in Japan into the hope chest I’ve stored in my brother’s apartment for nearly 3 years, making the massochistic mistake of reading my high school diaries while reorganizing my vintage belongings. I half-heartedly plan a get together for my latest “last weekend” in New York City. It’s small, intimate. I had my great big Going Away bash when I moved to Japan – a giant karaoke Sayonara Party before I even knew what a Sayonara Party was. To plan another seems greedy. I’ve done this before, and on a much grander scale. I already know who I’ll keep in touch with and how I’ll do it. I already know that I’ll talk to my mother every day and that Facebook will keep me alerted as to what kind of coffee my friends are drinking.
Moving to Dublin is my second wedding. It makes sense that it should be low key and, naturally, at the Oscar Wilde Salon. Guinness for everyone.