The Wide World Exotic

that was a phrase my Cinema professor used this week, "the Wide World Exotic"-- he has a penchant for using language in a way that I can never grasp on my own.

Did I mention that my professor was gay?

I think his flair for words is definitely related, at least in his case.

We were discussing what the American abroad means in movies, because it's a very common theme in a class that functions largely outside the realm of American movies, or at least movies that involve largely American motifs.

Sitting there in that class, awkwardly shifting in my chair made me realize how uncomfortable I am in myself as an American. This attitude is nothing new, but I sadly have no Patriotism to this country. I'm not sure if I've ever known what it means to be an American-- because I'm not sure there is really such a thing. In most countries, there's not as much ethnic diversity as in the US-- whereas the US is a wonderful mix of mutts. We don't really have a place to belong and the label of American more satisfies location rather than mindset-- and for some reason whenever I say this I offend lots of people.

Sorry, I guess it's one American thing I might actually subscribe to.

Stranger in a strange land, that's what we're supposed to take away from the "Yankee" traveling around in places that are generally not his home, hence the "wide world exotic" as Professor Lang phrased it.

I was then sat in class thinking about myself in that role, the American abroad trying to discover this strange lore and these queer traditions of an age old culture. It was only then that I realized I couldn't, I couldn't envision myself as this courageous adventure.

I've always wondered if Professor Lang feels this same way, having grown up in South Africa to British born parents trying to hash out a place in America. He's seen a world that I've only seen in story books, and I wonder if maybe once upon a time he sat in a desk like mine, at an age not too far from mine, wondering if maybe he didn't fit where he was any more.

Maybe some day I'll get up the courage to ask him what home means to him, but for now I'm nearly alone with this internal battle for self.

This is not my home.
I am a stranger in my homeland, I can feel the gaps growing every day from the person I'm growing up to be as compared to where I grew up.
My "home" stands in another day-- nearly 10,000 miles away from me.
My obsession is almost Napoleonic, like the way he longed for Egypt-- I long for a place where I fit.

I'm not sure if this thought terrifies me or excites me-- but I'm sure if you provided me with a scimitar I might vote for the "excites me" angle.