It’s been two years since I’ve returned to America. Two years since the officers at Philadelphia International Airport last questioned my residence in France these last eight years, two years since they last stamped my passport and sent me on my way with a steely half smile and a dry ‘welcome home’.
Two years is just enough time to feel stripped of nostalgia, of want for what once was. The longer I’m away, the more my life in the States feels obscure; those memories relegated to a part of my mind that feels like it belongs to someone else entirely.
For Franco-American photographer Galaxie Andrews, the reverse scenario has shaped her story. Born in France, she called Phoenix home for over fifteen years. When she visited this summer, it had been six years since she felt the French soil beneath her feet or embraced old friends. Her return was momentous and fraught with emotion, much like my visits stateside.
The only reason I know Galaxie or the story of her journey ‘home’ is because she reached out to me prior to her trip, hoping to connect when she arrived in Paris. She had seen glimpses of my little life here and wanted to…
