Hometown
I am writing these lines on an Austrian flight from Vienna to Chicago. It is 10:53 am at origin and 3:53 am at destination. I am tired and my eyes are painstakingly gazing at the map with a tiny airplane hardly moving across the map of Europe. Flying 735 km/h at the altitude of about 9,000 km, we are just above Prague right now.
I spent the past three weeks in Europe, my first trip back home (or ‘home’?) since the pandemic started. It was the first time after two years that I saw my mom and dad. The trip was really lovely – friend time, food time, wine time – except for the last 36 hours or so that I schlepped 30+ kg suitcase across Central Europe, got a PCR test (twice), dealt with the consequences of my 1,200 USD ‘light economy’ flight ticket that brought me more extra cost that a pre-Covid flight to the end of the world and was 7 min late for my taxi to the airport, which the Austrians did not have an appreciation for already at 7 am in the morning. Such is travel during Covid.
In the pre-Covid times, I would have easily planned a two-week vacation in Australia for the price tag I paid for a travel to the countries that I know so well. It was all worth it though – I spent some real’ good time with my closest friends, briefed my mom on the state of dating in the United States and got bitten by our collie Oscar that I, apparently, should not be calling ‘mine’ anymore – two years is a long time even for a dog.
On this trip I touched all the places that could compete for the label of ‘hometown’. Once one embarks on a nomad lifestyle, there is no turning back. While I would never exchange my inner nomad for anything else, that too has a price tag – to know where you come from gets increasingly difficult.
I was born in a small town in eastern Slovakia, then Czechoslovakia, about 90 km from the now Schengen border with Ukraine. Fun fact – I had never been to Ukraine. Until the age of six when I started going to school, Snina was my entire world although already then, I have distinct memories of dreaming of being in faraway places. I did all my primary and secondary schooling in the city of Presov in, also, eastern Slovakia. Presov is the third biggest city in Slovakia, think – 100,000 people. My mom is from Snina and my dad is from Presov.
When I was 18, I moved to Prague for college. It was a time of great expectations for me, although, partly also disappointment because, of course, I had wanted to go farther away. When you are ambitious and from eastern Slovakia, Prague is where you go. The closest faraway that was affordable at that time. And so it began, Prague as my first love. And a lot of growth … the city of Kafka and Kundera …
I am interrupting this writing for my kosher lunch over-wrapped in plastic and approved by Kashrus Committee, Khal Yisroel Vienna…
So, yes. A lot of growth. Growth is what defines your hometown. You might be born somewhere but the place might not leave a lasting mark. You might spend many years somewhere, yet the place won’t leave a lasting mark. But growth, almost surely, does leave a lasting mark.
In Prague, I went through the craziness of those first years of unregulated (what I believed to be) ‘freedom’, the independence, that gentle youth. That was Prague Phase 1. In Phase 2, after I had come back from Warsaw where I had gone to do my Master’s, well … among other things, I found my first full-time job (at the company I am still with in the U.S.!) and solidified my friendships and the connection with the city. It was also a lot about exposure to things that turn you into an adult (think – mortgage!).
If Prague was a phase of growth, then Chicago has been a phase of supercharged growth. Growth on steroids. From the beginnings that were humble and disruptive, to say the least, to see where I am now, I should probably thank my paternal grandmother for the genes of endurance and will. Chicago is not a place where my idea of love has materialized, for that I am still on the lookout for wherever it might be, but it is a place that shaped my character, boosted my strength and kickstarted my professional career. Importantly, Chicago is where I have become a woman, not merely an adult. You know, that kind of full-spirited woman who can single-handedly deal with a business school curriculum, brand strategy account management and the repercussions of using an Yves Saint Laurent red lipstick all at once.
Therefore, I am both a Praguer and a Chicagoan. These are my hometowns, for now.
I am a Praguer for I glow in its galleries and cafes underneath its hundred spires. I am a Praguer because I carry the mantle of the Velvet revolution towards the future generations of what it means to be free. I am a Praguer because I cherish my early morning grumpiness as a token of my European flare.
I am a Chicagoan because I thrive in its big city hustle. I am a Chicagoan because I hustle and therefore I am. I am a Chicagoan because I too am defined by Midwestern work ethics and because I am a connective tissue between the generations of Czechoslovakian migration and the city’s present day.
What happens when I move next, that I don’t know, although I might find out soon.
From Prague to Chicago, with Love. Always.
