Rachel Eggleton

Fly Away Home


If I had a flying house, all of my own, I would fly home. Now, you must understand my meaning. I have heard the phrase “home is where the heart is” many times. If this statement is true, then I have just confirmed my meaning.
I live in a big city called Saint Petersburg in Russia. It is my home. However, by nationality, I am American. My passport says so. In America, I live in a small town called Fulton. It is in the state of New York. It too is my home. I have lived in America for seven years of my life. I have lived in Russia for nine years of my life. I am a TCK or third culture kid. My home is supposed to be where my heart is. Well, what if my heart is split in two? Then where is home? Therefore, if I had a flying house, I would make my torn heart whole again.
I can see it. I could essentially live in two places, making the combination of two places my one home. How amazing would that be? On weekends and on school breaks I could travel to the other half of me to visit. I could see the people I miss so badly. I could be with those I love. I could be there for them and not miss precious moments in their lives.
Imagine never needing to say goodbye. With my flying house, I could go visit anyone, anywhere, practically anytime. Goodbyes have always killed me inside. They are always so hard. Sometimes, the good-bye’s said can mean never seeing that person again. With my flying house, things would be much different.
My family is currently living in Russia, so I would live here more often (with school and all). However, whenever the chance would arise, I would take off into the vast cloudy sky above my city. Saint Petersburg is one of the most beautiful cities you could ever see. It is historic, complex, and breathtaking.
I would fly over the great Atlantic like I have so many times before. This time, though, I am not in an airplane. My flying house has the speed of a winged horse, so it would not take long to get there. When I see the land of my birth, the place my passport says is my home, I would find the town I live in. It might be somewhat hard to find, for it is rather small. However, if I were able to locate the large stadium in Syracuse, New York, getting there would be a cinch. This town, though I was not born there, is my home because most of my relatives call it their home plus most of my friends as well. It is a struggling town, but nevertheless beautiful in the way small towns are. This town is called Fulton.
Once landed, I would find a place to stay (I would definitely not stay in my flying house). I would probably stay with my grandparents. I would then spend whatever time I had to hang out with my friends and family, trek around my town, eat out, whatever. I would simply live. I would be home after all.
That is what I would do with my flying house. I do not need to see the world (I pretty much already do that anyway without my flying house). I would just want to make my two worlds one. Though each half is radically different that the other, both of the make up the image of what my home is. I see my flying house as the doorway between the two. I cannot be in both rooms at once so I must step through the doorway to get to the other. My flying house would make it easy and just make things better overall.
Now I open my eyes and see that life is as it has always been. There is no flying house for me. However, I smile inwardly, dwelling on memories, dreams, and experiences yet to come. I am happy. I am ready to live life, every moment, to the fullest. For, I cannot rely on my flying house to make things happen. I will live my life in thankfulness, seizing every opportunity to make each half of me whole in the place that I am.