singaporean flag

Home is a curious concept. What is home exactly? Is it the place where you hang your hat? Or maybe where your heart is? According to de Botton, at least, home seems to be the place where one is suffused with painful familiarity that mutates into ennui.

Singapore is a country that believes very firmly in progress and growth. Particularly since our past was nothing much to speak of, history is often relegated to the status of an afterthought or for the sake of tourism. Physically, the manifestation of this mindset shows itself in the incessant building going on the country, as buildings and houses barely ten years old are constantly being torn down to make way for newer, more modern ones. Subsequently, every time I go home for the holidays, I always feel slightly dislocated; in the midst of things that should seem so familiar, there’s always something to jar me into the realization that things have changed, and I wasn’t around to see it.

Yet even with the sense of alienation, I invariably feel bored and claustrophobic within a couple of weeks of having been in Singapore. Having bridged the gap between third world fishing village and first world economy in record time, Singapore is extremely focused on the financial frontier, at the great expense of everything else, particularly the arts. Furthermore, being barely more than wide, there is literally nowhere to go in Singapore nor anything to do. As such, less and less time is needed each time I’m back to make me feel an intense urge to leave the island and I’m afraid that one day I will feel absolutely no impetus to return to Singapore.

The end result of all of this is simply a sense that I don’t really belong anywhere in the world. For convenience’s sake, I still refer to Singapore as home, but the word is rapidly losing the heartwarming connotation it’s meant to have in abundance. How is it possible for a person to feel so bored in a place so unsettlingly foreign?

Me and my Guia T, the Tourist's BFFI have written before, in a post or a comment, at some point in this blog about noticing how some people have an eye for urban exploration, but that I don’t. In his chapter On Habit, de Botton speaks to this exact phenomenon, but he calls it a traveling mind-set, and I still feel like I have never acquired it. I do not call myself a seasoned traveler, even after this study abroad experience. Traveling for me is still a self-conscious process. I find myself fighting the urge to admire things for their strangeness and difference in other countries because I am trying too hard to fit in rather than stand out. I don’t know why acting like a tourist, truly accepting and being ok with my foreignness, is so hard for me. I don’t think of myself as a self-conscious person, and I definitely would not say I am more self-conscious/less confident than the average 21-year old woman (we tend to be a nervous demographic) so I wonder why I hate the label tourist so much. I want to look and act like a local. Maybe it comes from growing up in a very touristy city: San Francisco. I grew up being able to spot tourist from a mile a way, and there were always so cute, lost, and usually in shorts and a fluffy new sweatshirt with San Francisco branded across the front (San Francisco is not warm in the summer, so leave your shorts at home!). I don’t hate them; in fact I love them! I love helping them out, pointing them in the right direction, but because I take pride in knowing the way, pride in my identity as a local, pride in defining myself as different from them. This chapter gave me hope to become a true traveler.

I found the chapter very inspiring, surprisingly. There seems to be something (I want to say magical so forgive me for being cheesy) magical about experiencing a space aesthetically, and removing all function from it. It is about seeing it as it functions, finding that beautiful, but somehow remaining completely separate from it because you don’t need it, or need to use it. I am not lying when I say I am inspired to use my last three weeks in Buenos Aires, being the biggest tourist I can be. I want to stop and admire the city, look like a foreigner, and maybe even get targeted by more twelve-year-old muggers and be ok with that. I have been missing out on the traveling mind-set; I’ve avoided it like the plague, and as a result my experience of Buenos Aires has been one of functionality. I have appreciated coming to understand the city as an active member of it, using it because I need to, but I have been missing so much of the traveler’s perspective. For the next three weeks I will find the courage to be what I am, the foolish foreigner.

A place that will never feel like homeI am particularly intrigued by De Botton’s theory of travel as a mindset because I think it accurately explains the confusing and inconsistent feelings I have about Paris and New York. Last year when I was living in New York, I had already begun to notice the amazing quality of cities that allows you to travel without straying far from home. Each new neighborhood I ventured into for an errand, on my way somewhere, or to see some other attraction, was different enough to produce in me whatever bizarre mix of hormones and endorphins it is that inspires the heady rush of curiosity and otherness that is travel. A two dollar subway ride and I had a few hours of mini-vacation, far from the pressing worries of the everyday and full of pleasantries of newness. But even though New York held such an amazing capacity for travel, the areas that were defined as “home” spread farther and farther. The perimeters of “normal” and “other” were constantly expanding, shrinking, and occasionally overlapping.
When I moved to Paris, I thought that maybe I would have the thrill of travel all the time, or at least this was the idealized notion abstractly embedded in my subconscious. But I have not been a visitor in Paris for a long time. Yes, my everyday places are beautiful, and I don’t always take them for granted, but I haven’t had the sensation of travel as much as I thought. Just like New York, there are many places located just a quick subway ride away that are mentally categorized as “travel”, to the Chateau at the Bois de Vincennes, the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, the new Japanese tea garden, but the zone of “normal” extends in isolated regions and intricate patterns throughout the city. The neighborhoods around my house, my friends houses, my office, my favorite bars and restaurants, all have lost the sparkling luster of “otherness”.
So in going back home to New York, I don’t really feel like I am traveling any less. I am trading one home for another, but each of them is a home that includes travel, even travel more exciting than “room travel.” I will miss everything about Paris, both the familiar and the other, but I know that I will have the opportunity to continue to travel, explore, and see through the eyes of a visitor.

New York CityI’m jaded. I was born and raised in New York City and have lived there my whole life. I even chose to stay in NYC for college and my first real experience living somewhere else was this semester, studying abroad in Shanghai. This pompous New York attitude has been with me my whole life, why live anywhere else? Any other city is just a downgrade anyway. I felt that the world’s people and their cultures were all coming to me; I didn’t have a need to travel anywhere else. Boy was I wrong.

I suppose my attitude starting changing when I traveled to Hawaii for a week in December 2008. I instantly fell in love with the island culture and the laid-back attitude of the locals. It was a stark contrast to the fast paced living of New York. Admittedly, my fondness for Hawaiian culture might have also been because of the nice local girl I met who taught me about Hawaii, but nonetheless, I was beginning to accept a world outside of New York. C

Coming to Shanghai was really an eye opener. The only city I ever knew was New York, it was my habit. Breaking my habit and living in a foreign city barely speaking the language was something I needed to do to break out of my shell, to break my habit. I have since come to really enjoy Shanghai and have seen all the opportunities it brings, as the vanguard city in a constantly changing country. Since, I have decided to possibly move here after my undergraduate degree to pursue opportunities here. A quote that stands out for me is “It seems inconceivable that there could be anything new to find in a place where we have been living for a decade or more. We have become habituated and therefore blind to it”. I have become habituated to New York and living in Shanghai, leaving my room, have made me a more cultured and experienced person. My only fear is that going back to New York, the city that it is; will make me go back to old habits.

home sweet home I'm kind of in love with everything that de Botton wrote in his paper. I enjoyed most his contrasting ideas between our mindset at home and our mindset when traveling. When traveling to a new place, I have the tendency of being enamored with absolutely everything. I find myself in a very euphoric state when looking at my surrounding when in a new place, and I feel very guilty if I find fault or want to be critical of anything. I subconsciously humble myself in new surroundings and tend to try and overcompensate for my intrusion. I wanted to appreciate everything and everyone I came in contact with. I enjoyed riding taxis and just staring outside the window watching Argentine lovers display their affection for one another so openly. For the 2, 3 weeks that I've been here I took pictures of everything: random buildings, parks, crappy graffiti. But since I'm actually living in Buenos Aires, and not for only let's say a week, the mystique of the city slowly began to wear off. The reason being is getting myself stuck into a routine. Much like de Botton says about how we view home, I became settled in my expectations. Things became familiar to me, and I even caught myself in a couple of instances of chuckling at that not-so-subtle tourist with their fanny pack, sunglasses and large camera snapping away at a cafe with a tango illustration on the window.

In my hometown of Miami, thanks to the fabulous seasons of warm, hot and hell, we get year-round tourists. Despite me seeing Miami as home and not really finding it necessary to snap pictures of the Art Deco architecture in the city, I can completely understand why someone would want to visit. Overlooking the tackiness of the city, Miami has some of the warmest people you will encounter, we have great food a great night life if you're into drinking and clubbing and our beaches are beautiful. After studying abroad in Spain last summer and returning back to Miami I had my mind set on traveling around the city and doing the "touristy" things in Miami, and there was literally nothing to do that I hadn't done (boat rides on Bayside, the zoo, the Everglades or the aquarium) or for doing things that were so ridiculous that I couldn't see ANYONE wanting to do it (scavenger hunts on the beach) so I gave up and went about my normal life.

Habit: Their are so many beautiful stairways in Buenos Aires apartments. My homestay has a beautiful red and whit marble staircase but very few people use it. All portenos take the elevator--definitely an example of passing over the everyday beauty for function. Its strange because I will often take the stairs because I don't want to wait for the elevator. I too want to make my commute seem faster and the elevator slows it down.When de Botton talks about habit his main point is that we tend to simplify the spaces (areas, neighborhoods, streets, worlds) that we spend the most time in down to functionality. We miss points of view, namely imagined points of view that others may have and we miss the romantic and interesting for the pragmatic. I have taken up habits in Buenos Aires as I’m sure most have in their respective study abroad sites but the habits that de Botton talks about take form in the place that some call home. As I’m preparing to prepare to leave this city I think about how the spectrum of homes I feel connected to right now.

First there is the home that there is no place like. I like to poke fun at my liberal college Massachusetts town but as I write this I can think of places and not just people that are important to me there. A bridge in the woods near a middle school that I never went to, a park I used to run races around. Though I wouldn’t say these places are a part of me in any way I do think that they hold a significance that one who doesn’t live in my town would have a harder time appreciating. In a larger sense I thank my summer camp which is based on walking around my town much like de Botton (though it is of course different when you’re leading a group of kids) for a greater appreciation of the daily life that most people pass by in their cars.

I also think of New York which is still a place of discovery. I feel most like a New Yorker when I’m commuting. I also realize that I spend most of my time in the city with the same people in the same places be they school-related or not. When I get back I want to change that and if there is a place that one can constantly discover new things it is New York. One can feel at home there but I think it would never be the same feeling that de Botton has for his quiet English hometown or I have for the town I grew up in.

Then there is Buenos Aires. I wouldn’t call it home at all though I definitely feel an attachment to my bedroom that feels detached from travel. I still wake up to my host family eating breakfast and think, for an instant, that I’m back in the US. My room here is totally different than any room I have ever slept in but having a place that has not changed and that I have returned to almost every night for the past three months makes it special. And my commute here has not lost all romanticism. I have realized here that I like the bus more than the subway. I’ll say I want to take the bus instead because of the light, passing across Nueve de Julio, the street noise, and the nicer temperature. Yet I’ve realized how frustratingly held up the bus can get with the traffic in this city , that inefficiency that de Botton talks about. I’ve realized that the subway may be faster, and not take my monedas so sometimes I’ll take but if I can I still take the bus. Even though I opt for the more pleasurable transport (and often end up regretting it) I think that the fact that I still choose the bus exemplifies a habit specific to this city and my time here. This has not been a vacation to the Barbados; this is a different type of travel—longer, more complex, more quotidian yet not normal.

Welcome to Hopkinton (hometown)
By the time I read Alain de Batton’s piece “On Habit” I had already read many of the other Art of Travel students’ blog responses for this assignment. Everyone’s reaction to this chapter seemed very similar; most people easily relate to Batton’s writing about growing too accustomed to a place, whether in their hometown or New York City or wherever they are studying. Likewise, Batton’s stories reminded me of my own habitual lifestyles and I can only agree with what everyone else has written about the piece. But even though this reading succeeded to increase my awareness of my own unfavorable habitual behaviors, I am not inspired enough to return to my hometown with a new attitude. I don’t anticipate myself attempting to find a new beauty in the minute details of suburbia because I think that habit is too natural and too unavoidable. I have tried before to experience my hometown in a new light…to appreciate how it is unique and to actually see the everyday things that I have grown blind to over the years of my childhood. But this only lasts for so long; my efforts always fade with time and once again I become too accustomed. Naturally, time away from my hometown is the only thing that allows me to notice and to appreciate some of the everyday details that I was once too habituated with. Still, after time passes I become once again blind by my familiarization.

I actually found myself intrigued by a different idea that Batton mentioned about travel in “On Habit”: the theory that it is advantageous to travel alone because “our responses to the world are crucially moulded by the company we keep, for we temper our curiosity to fit in with the expectations of others”. Batton’s ideas resonated with me because it is true that when I travel alone, I feel like I am able to experience place in a unique way, but I had never considered how or why the company of others may be responsible for the shape of my experiences. Remembering times when I have traveled with friends and family, it is difficult for me to label exactly how people are able to influence me. Batton contends that others may have a particular vision of who we are and hence may subtly prevent certain sides of us from emerging. Many of the people I have traveled with are people that I feel so comfortable with, that I don’t think they could have prevented a particular side of me from emerging. Still, there is no relationship like the one I have with myself. No matter how comfortable I am with whom I travel, there is something very different about traveling alone. Maybe it has less to do with the influence of the others you travel with and more to do with the unique experience of being entirely alone. Usually, experiences are moments to be shared. Maybe it is when there is no one else to share your experiences, the things that you see and you feel, that you grow closest to yourself and to your surroundings.

Miami: My place of habitDe Botton’s chapter “On Habit” was a surprisingly good read (I tend to have a bit of a bias on school assigned readings so I admittedly wasn’t expecting much). De Botton’s knack for capturing the reader’s attention while incorporating anecdotes and stories, along with his own personal experiences to create a rich and vivid tale full of incredible visual imagery, never ceases to incite my attention span. From his picturesque description of detail, such as “azure skies and giant sea anemones”, to his wit and sense of despair over things he mentions such as “funereal” skies, one can’t help but feel as if they are beside De Botton, experiencing the same emotions and seeing things through his eyes. What most fascinates me about De Botton’s writings however is what an incredible amount of knowledge he has in the realm of stories (or possibly, the amount of research he did to find these little anecdotal tales), and how he manages to weave them in so seamlessly to illustrate his points, such as his story about de Maistre.

De Botton further expands on his ideas about travel by saying that we as travelers have a sense of receptivity, meaning that (most of us) approach new places that we visit with a large sense of humility, and without assumption (though this is VERY arguable in my opinion), waiting to experience these new cultures and locales by irritating locals with our touristy ways and strange fascination with the most miniscule of things that the locals pay no attention to. Even more fascinating however, is how De Botton likens our home mentality and states how we have lowered expectations to our familiar surroundings, because it has become a part of our daily habits and routine. De Botton states that we are more “settled in our expectations”, and believe that we know all there is to know about our surroundings simply because of living there for an extended period of time, and how we find it hard to believe that anything new could occur somewhere we’ve been living for such a long period of time. De Botton states that because we have been there for so long, “we have become habituated and therefore blind to it.” I couldn’t help but relate to this, as I am from Miami, Florida originally (where everyone goes to vacation, etc.), everyone is always fascinated by that fact, when all I can do is complain as to how much I hate it and how its always the same. To an extent that is true, but for a traveler who has never been, I’d be dead wrong.

De Botton’s “Habit” is a familiar story to me. Not only do I share his thoughts on the subject, but also his stories. When he explained how one becomes accustomed to something, I agreed about how easy it is to for something to become a habit. When I grew up, everything seemed so trivial. It was either a routine, or maybe a slight deviation from the routine. And now I look back at those times and wonder why I ever thought those routines seemed trivial. I feel that human nature pulls these kinds of tricks all the time. We are never satisfied. I feel that we constantly look for something better or more exciting. Regardless of quality, we want novelty. It’s no wonder that novelty sells. Even in fashion I feel that a style goes out of style in a matter of weeks. Yet, probably in a year or two it will return. It’s inevitable that change is always desired and familiarity is avoided. My stay here at Prague has certainly been delightful. I would have never guessed that I would have so much fun here. I went grocery shopping today and while I was walking to and fro from the store, I realized that in a few days I would be leaving this place and probably never return. The thought of never returning to a place I regarded as my home for four months was unsettling. Though I am ready to go home, I also know that I will miss this place greatly. Even the little trivial things I hated to do, like walking across the bridge to class, will probably be something I will reminisce about at home. I remember my mom once telling me that habit is a scary thing. I never understood how scary habit could be until I realized that habit is something you have absolute no control of. Regardless of that habit being a positive or negative one, I understood what she meant about habit being frightening.

"...de Maistre's work sprang from a profound and suggestive insight: the notion that the pleasure we derive from a journey may be dependent more on the mind-set we travel with than on the destination we travel to... What then is a traveling mind-set? Receptivity might be said to be its chief characteristic. Receptive, we approach new places with humility. We carry with us no rigid ideas about what is or is not interesting... Home, by contrast, finds us more settled in our experiences. We feel assured that we have discovered everything about our neighborhood, primarily by virtue of having lived there..." (242)

In de Bottom's chapter 'On Habit', I really responded to this section. When I think about my home-life I never think about anything overly  extraordinary. Not to say that where I live in Florida is at all boring or mundane, it is simply my home. Nothing more, nothing less. It is the place where I was raised, the place where my family lives, the place where I went to school and the place where I made friends. Of course, all of that is by no means uninteresting, but after living in the same place for over fifteen years, all of the excitement becomes monotonous; it becomes something of habit. 

Marco Island, Florida

Living in a vacation and tourist frequented spot in Florida, I was always a bit unnerved by the numbers of people that would flood the streets every day. Year after year and day after day, my little hometown of Marco Island would be harassed by tourists from all over. I was frequently baffled at the amounts of people coming to visit. To be honest, there isn't much in Marco. We have a lovely beach and it definitely gives the illusion of a small island feeling but other than that, there really isn't much. So how can all these people, no matter what time of year, constantly be attracted to such a random place? 

After reading this section in de Bottom's book, I realized that more than likely, having grow up on Marco has almost disillusioned me to it's intriguing qualities. My close connection with Marco Island has given me the impression that I have discovered everything it has to offer, therefore, since I have an intimate relationship with my hometown I can't quite understand its attraction to "outsiders" (as we call them on the island). 

It is probably quite a similar situation to Londoners. London, being the well known city that it is, is constantly surrounded by visitors from all over the world. Being a Londoner for all ones life, one probably is quite familiar with the city. And I, being the tourist who is new to this place, can easily find exciting new things, while the Londoner is so used to it all that my excitement is their monotonous. Harrods is just that ridiculously overpriced department store; the London Eye is just that giant monstrosity that is making British Airways thousands of pounds a day; and the underground is just a source of transportation. 

I suppose, after writing this entry, I will have to be more open minded to the idea of tourists visiting my hometown. It is clear that what one person finds dull, another person finds exciting, and therefore we must not shut out the opportunities of excitement even if it is in our own backyards.