Everything Has a Story

Nine days have passed since landing in Newark Liberty International on a clear Wednesday morning in May. I'm way behind on emails, forms, and most importantly, my blog. I've sadly left you readers in Berlin, at the beginning of deeply moving week in March. Don't worry, I intend to spend the summer continuing the story of this year. In any event, I want to share how I've begun my process of returning to this country of united states.

My loving mother drove me first to IHOP because I missed those pancakes so. As we passed through northeastern Philadelphia, I took note of the dress, the large vehicles, and the street signs. They reminded me of this odd emptiness I felt when I got off the airplane at Newark Liberty and crossed the threshold. A large sign above me welcomed all to the United States of America. But there was nothing to it. No pictures. No quotes. No Hebrew, Arabic, French, Hungarian, Czech, Slovakian, German, Hindi, Marathi. Just English. Just one language, that I speak fluently. 

How foreign.