Sort of. I'm in my parent's new house, in a city I haven't lived in for nine years, in a country I haven't lived in for two years. But things are still familiar, and if home is indeed where the heart is then I'm more than halfway home.
My journey back was rather unremarkable in everything but length. I think it took something like forty hours to get here. Which is a while, but things went well, so no worries.
I now have the uneviable task of figuring out how to squish everything that I want to get done into the next month. There are lots of people to see and places to go and I want to make sure I do as much with my time here as I can.
Random thoughts: It's less nerve racking to travel over the Atlantic Ocean than it is to ride in the back of a packed poda-poda knowing at some point I will have to climb over everyone to get out; some houses are meant for certain people and my mom found HER house, I am drinking water out of the faucet for the first time in 11 months and it's weird; I'm glad the first thing I ate upon arrival in the States was McDonalds, I feel more like I'm at home for having done so.