orem landing.

I’m sleeping in my old room but without the comfort of handmade bookshelves, a 17-year-old desk, or the navy banana chair I gifted to my brother S before I left. No pictures, trinkets, ticket stubs, and no change on floor. The whole setup feels austere and deserted, except for my luggage in the corner. My duffle bag looks like a murder victim: deflated and gutted, the contents spilling over onto the carpet; and my scarves make for a convincing likeness of the 20+ feet of intestines once neatly coiled in my bag.

I’ve lived out of a bag before. After my parents split, we all packed up every week to cross the boundary between Lindon and Orem, different towns for each parent. Still, I can’t get used to the chaos of scattered and piled clothes, or the mingling of dirty shirts and clean jeans.

But I like my yellow room, and I’ve liked visiting Utah. I like long lunches with friends that demand a tip that almost matches the bill because, really, we sat there for three hours. I like dancing with my family to songs synonymous with seedy stripper joints. I like buckets of good food, and violent indoor soccer games that leave me winded, sweaty, and bruised. I like reading Blankets in bed until 4 a.m. I like the general warmth of people, even at 1 a.m. in the grocery store. Utah people’s good people.

But just as Utah has reminded me what I miss, it has reminded me why I left. Explaining why I’m 26 and not married has proven to be just as irritating as it was five months ago, as are the assumptions that I’m both politically conservative and an active member of the dominant faith.

They’re honest mistakes, I suppose, I hope, and though I’d never claim that Utah people are homogenous, there’s definitely a commanding mindset, and I doubt it will change much. But it’s my home, a place with a vacant room waiting for me to drop my luggage. And even in moments of sheer frustration, I can skip over to Ridley’s and get a six-pack of Apple Beer and watch The Mighty Ducks with my siblings. And that makes all the difference.