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I have heartburn. I hate this. I hate my stomach!
(And I guess what it all comes down to is: "I want to go home." I left my home that fateful wednesday in Spring, now seven years ago, and when I came back three days later it wasn't home anymore, and I still can't seem to find it again.
Why does it all keep coming back to that?)
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And really, if moving to the U.S. feels right for you because you have friends here, I think that's a good reason. It's a better reason than most. I've been telling people I'm moving to Ann Arbor, MI since my brother's moving back there and some other friends have talked about going there. (I have a vision of just packing up all my friends and taking them all with me where ever I go.)
I don't have any answers for you, just that I do know where you're coming from.
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Actually Larry's shirt was the only thing I liked about the Superbowl performance. I thought everything else was crap: the fake bimbos *right* in front of the cameras, Bono's hoarse voice, songs that were too short, the corporate ass-kissing, etc...
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As for moving to a place where you won't be considered a freak, though . . . that's sort of difficult. Canterbury is full o' freaks. Mostly ones like your brother, with Slipknot hoodies, and huge jeans with wallet chains, but every time I go into the high street, I see goths I haven't seen before. Since the population's only 27,000, surely they form quite a high proportion of the community, yet show any sign of gothicness, someone will lay into you. One day, I was walking along in my looooong black leather coat of loveliness, a black jumper and black trousers. An outfit plenty of non-goths round here wear. The only giveaways were my boots and dog collars. Yet a teenage boy said to his friend, "What a f***ing goth" in disgust.
And all cities are alike. In Portland with Twi, yeah, we saw a boy in the supermarket in a Skinny Puppy shirt with impossibly spiked hair; yeah, some homeless punks yelled, "Like your t-shirt, man! Sid Vicious roolz!" at me. But most of the time, men were just wolf-whistling at Twi's corset. And even in Nodnol, where you can't go anywhere without finding someone gother than thou, people take photos of me, without make-up, with roots, in my PVC dress under an oversized Cure shirt, or fake leather miniskirt and an oversized Alice Cooper shirt. Which is flattering, but it still makes me a freak. And still, you keep your head down through the crowds of lager louts and loutesses at pub closing time on your way to Slimelight, and on the tube with e'd-up ravers the next day, ready to mock. As far as that sort of acceptance goes, Germany, home of Wave Goffik Treffen is your best bet, where goth is considered the norm.
But I don't want to stop you from accomplishing your goals. You go, girl! Also, *hug*. I know how you feel about the 'homelessness' thing. I wish I lived in a Metallica song, but dividing my time between three places, none of them are home to me. Hope you manage to find it, someday. Just bear in mind that likeminded people are thinly spread, and the Internet's by far the easiest way to get in touch with them.
Sorry for rambling. I don't think I'm delirious . . .
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No, seriously, I've felt homeless ever since I moved out of my mom's house to live with my dad. I then had to move back into that house, but it never felt like home again. And then we moved into the current house, and then I went to college, and I change rooms so much. So I too seek a place outside of my normal sphere, so I am not in a place I feel like should be home but isn't.
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You come to NYC and be MY roomie! :D
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