I have too much to say to say it here.
All I can comment on is how strange it is to ride in wide cars with left-side steering wheels, and see open fields growing corn and square ugly buildings with lit up giant signs. Passing pick-ups and SUVs.
The signs tell you to yield here, rather than to Give Way, and there are four-way stops instead of roundabouts.
The air is humid enough so that shade makes no difference. The buildings look cardboard.
The I am not a fez, exotic. My accent doesn't cut across the room and pierce eardums. My shoes don't look cheap. No one asks me if we eat everyday at McDonalds, or if their accent sounds like Austin Powers to me.
I am in the arms of the boy I love rather than keeping sleazy boys at arm's length and keeping a close eye on my drink.
I am home.
I am home.