Look alike

For the first six or so months here, I would occasionally see a person who I would have to look at twice, do a double-take, because they looked like someone back home. It happened alot at first; those moments of "she looks just like...could it be?" followed by "no, no...they're thousands of miles away. Stop being so silly." It's strange how the mind does that. How when you're overwhelmed with newness, your mind searches so desperately for something known that it will take a person you undoubtedly have never seen before in your life and transform them into your mother or your best friend, your old college professor or even the barista from your favorite coffee shop, and for a fleeting second your heart leaps into your throat and you want to run to them and fling yourself into a big hug and jump up and down with them in excitement. But the fleeting second passes and logic takes over and you realize how silly your mind's form of wishful thinking is. These moments almost never happen anymore. I kind of miss them and the little dose of mystery, excitement, and heartache that they would bring. Of course I'm not going to randomly bump into my sister over here, but there's something a little bit mystical in your mind's temporarily successful search for familiar faces in a world that's knowingly unfamiliar. It makes me wonder, too, just how different from eachother are the grubby man who resembles my dad and my dad. Are their personalities at all similar? I saw him three days ago and his face looked so uncannily like my dad's that I'm pretty sure had my dad grown up here, with less nutrients, more air pollution, and the hardship that went with living under communism, he would have been identical twins with the man. Slightly hunched back, five foot six bony frame, gently bowed legs, a cane in hand, missing and badly stained teeth. It's a little scary to think about how much of our appearance and health depends on when and where we grew up. Had my dad's look alike been born in the US, maybe he'd be standing on solid legs, baking bread on Sundays and making guitars in his free time, too, instead of leaning on a cane, sweeping the streets and emptying the trash cans to earn a living. Who knows.