Where I'm From
What place can I call mine? What place do you call yours?
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I’m from a vast patchwork of flat corn and soybean fields laid out in perfect rectangles, where my friend Mary and I got lost riding our bikes for 100 kilometers on the Prairie Fall Centuries of 1978 but found our way back to town easily by following the sides of those rectangles. I’m from a town where I’d ride my bike to Busey, a street paved with tar unlike my rattly brick street, so I could coast smoothly down a hill, but where, when I went back to visit after living in San Francisco for a while, I literally could not see the hill. I’m from a place where the red lights blinking on metal transmission towers were the only thing breaking up the sad monotony of drives in the country at dusk.
I’m from a very flat place — did I mention that?
I’m from a university town that’s a flat liberal oasis in the middle of those flat Republican-inhabited corn and soybean farms, where we could see all kinds of French and Italian movies, though they might be shown in random rooms at the university where we’d sit on folding chairs. I’m from a town with the third-largest library in the country, a town that all the big concerts came through, a town full of great bookstores and record stores. I’m from a town that no parents of my friends or friends of my parents were from, where people came from all over to study and teach and talk about things they cared about deeply in ivy-covered halls and ivy-covered houses.
I’m from a town where you could enjoy classical music concerts for a few dollars in a modern concert hall with acoustics so good it showed up in my high school physics textbook, and during intermission you’d run into at least a few friends and acquaintances. I’m from a town with a wonderful built-in community of like-minded people I still miss. I’m from a town that was intellectually focused but also steeped in Midwestern authenticity and straightforwardness. I’m from a town in the middle of nowhere, where houses are still affordable.
I’m from a town with “one of the most diverse urban forests in the Midwest,” which got it a Tree City USA designation in 1976 that it’s proudly held onto since. I’m from a town whose trees have grown significantly since I left, including the saplings my father planted in our front yard that I had to maneuver around when mowing the lawn with the electric lawn mower so its cord wouldn’t get tangled in them. I’m from a neighborhood much nicer than any I’ve lived in since, with all those trees and appealing but not-too-fancy houses that were each unique, with gardens that weren’t too manicured, comfortable with just the right amount of scruffiness.
I’m from Urbana, Illinois, but I’m also from Buenos Aires, Argentina, a place I know only from visits later in life. I’m from that huge city, 100 times bigger than Urbana (not hyperbole), where I spent my first three years, years I have no memory of. I’m from there — one reminder being that sometimes I’ll see an object, like an umbrella, and the Spanish word, paraguas, will pop into my head before the English one, another reminder being my affinity for big cities. I’m also not from there — one reminder being how much I stumble when I try to converse in Spanish in the manner to which I have become accustomed in English, another reminder being all the cultural references I miss when I do speak to people there.
I’m from Russia, Ukraine, Poland, Italy, and other parts of Southern Europe, according to 23andMe, if my genetics can be said to be where I’m from. I’m from who knows where before then, though ultimately we humans are all from Africa.
I’m from San Francisco, a city that fused itself deep into my bones when I was young, from the day I arrived there shortly before my 24th birthday in 1985. I’m from the city that still tugs at me from across the bay, though I know a lot of what I miss about it is my youth and what the city used to be, before it was taken over by the tech bros. I’m from the city that still has a lot more to it than tech bros, that still sparkles and glints in the sun that shines on it so many days, where being soaked in bright sunshine makes it easier to be happy than it was in Illinois, and the thick fog creeping over the hills adds a dramatic beauty I never knew growing up in Urbana, where you had to look harder to see the beauty that was there. I’m from that city where I belonged even more than I did in my university hometown, because San Francisco is, or at least was, the ultimate city of misfits. I’m from the place where I found my people.
I’m from Oakland, where I’ve lived for a decade, a full third as long as I lived in San Francisco — though it feels much shorter because time goes by faster as you age. I’m from this vibrant city with its problems and its diversity and its warmth of culture and climate, and I feel enough at home here.
I’m from California, where I’ve lived 40 of my nearly 64 years and will likely live a while longer, though you never know. I’m from the state I randomly picked to write a report on in third grade because I liked the sound of its name. I’m from this state with so much sun and natural beauty; I’m from the wild, jagged coastline with its striking hills and rocks, its fresh ocean air and fog, its cold but invigorating beaches; I’m from the temperate climate that lets you hike all year.
I’m from all these places and hardly know what to answer when people ask me where I’m from. I’m from a place I can’t hold onto. I’m from somewhere and I’m from nowhere.
Where are you from? Tell me about it in the comments!
Fascinating post, Rosana. I have always been interested in the topic of "home" and what it means to people. I am from New York, Florida, and New Hampshire, but currently, as a full-time traveler, I am from nowhere. Or everywhere.
My heart's home is an island off the coast of South Carolina. It's a state park, so no one can actually live there, but what feels like home is the weather, the plants and animals, the ocean, the sunrises and sunsets, the humidity and even the bugs.
Urbana is home. Great description of our home! Thanks