There's this song that goes something like "I left my heart in San Francisco" (which I guess I can understand, because I think San Francisco is a nice city, despite apparently having a history of being notorious place). And I thought it was suitable considering what I was thinking about earlier.
The common belief is that being homesick will make a vacation miserable for a person. But I don't think that's necessarily the case. It's true, during the first one or two days of Yosemite, I was trying hard not to burst into desperate sobs, because I was unaccustomed to the rush of Yosemite, the horrible-smelling bathtubs, the thin walls of the tent (meaning that you could hear any loud noise being made elsewhere), and the lack of sympathy from much of the other people (judging from their excited attitudes, since I try to avoid pouring out my heart and soul to people I do not know well).
As is the unusual case here, after a few days, I realized that I would be going home soon, and with this thought in my mind, I acquired a much more positive attitude toward the Yosemite trip. Isn't it funny how wanting to go home can become your motivation? I kind of figured that if I had fun the time would pass faster and I could go home and sleep in my nice old bed and get to take a warm shower (the showers were so cold, it was warmer when you weren't showering than when you were showering...). And in this way I was able to enjoy the trip after all, despite being very paranoid for much of the time. I was very fearful during the hiking when we had to clamber up rocks (how precarious! One false move and you would fall all the way to the valley floor) and also when exploring caves (you could slip and break your bones or bang your head on the ceiling! Or you would at least end up with really dirty pants and gloves). But at the same time feeling the adrenaline rush was a good thing since it made me feel adventurous. For much of my life I had been craving something exciting. This is very contradictory considering that I'm a person that likes normality and regular comforting rhythms in their life.
Just the other night, I closed my eyes. I began to imagine that I was back in Yosemite again. I could imagine the covers on my bed turning into the top of the sleeping bag, and the quiet of the room turning into the annoying dripping and banging of the heater... For some reason this gave me a kind of comfort while also making me feel very nostalgic. I wonder if perhaps the reason why I keep waking up really early, like 7:00 am, when I don't need to get up until 7:45, is that my mind thinks, "Oh no! I am so late for the breakfast at Yosemite!" but that's not the case at all.
My parents said that maybe some other time, like in 2011, we could go to Yosemite again. I'd like to go back to Yosemite, but I feel like if I went back there, I wouldn't want to leave. I'd like my days to pass in a national park, the way some people spend a lot of time in Yellowstone, watching the wolves with their binoculars. I'd like to be somewhere where I can see the stars as clear as day and where the trees make the air delightfully fresh. And as dear as home is to me, that place is not here.