What you look for
Last night, I was standing in my kitchen making my favorite breakfast. I had the bananas in my hand and I was reaching for the chocolate chips in the cabinet next to my stove. The pancake batter was all over the counter next to me; most of it was able to stay in the mixing bowl. Eggs were ready to be cracked into the hot pan next to me on the left. And even though something inside of me knew it was nighttime, or supposed to be nighttime in a reality that seemed far off, the windows in the kitchen were open and the sunlight came in along with the kind of spring breeze that made you feel warm and just a little chilly at the same time. I saw what I was seeing out of my own eyes in front of me, cooking for myself or people who were not there. I saw myself standing in front of me by the back door. I was wearing an apron and I was in many places at once.
And then I woke up in the dark, in a bed that, for a second, I thought I had never been in before. Why was I not in my room with my rainbow Christmas lights or all of my books or my flower comforter? I turned to my side and remembered where I was, a body sleeping quietly next to me. I was so far away from a place that is called home, yet when I realized where I was, I was able to turn over and close my eyes again.
It was the first time I had dreamed of home, of something that I maybe didn’t realize I missed so much. American breakfast? Chocolate chip and banana pancakes? The comfort of my own kitchen? And if, for a moment, I thought I woke up in my own bed, do I miss that more than I realize as well? And when I am grocery shopping in Chile, do I sometimes keep an eye out for pancake mix that kind of looks like an American brand even though I am pretty sure I will never find it?
And yet I am not ready to go home yet; maybe just visit for a day or two so that I could return to Chile feeling refreshed. Or maybe I am okay with just dreaming of home a few times, knowing it will come to me when I am not ready for it, or more ready than I would care to admit.
I am writing about a dream that I had last night. And I know a place that has really good crepes. They aren’t pancakes, but they come pretty close.