Although all of Eat, Pray, Love arguably presents and
both physical and metaphysical homelands, the latter 25 percent of the book
focuses largely on the idea of a home established through feelings and the
union of souls. In a sense,
though, Gilbert fuses literal and figurative homelands to convey the message
that, perhaps, a person must physically venture to a new land to discover a
state of home that resonates as more than skin-deep. As Liz begins to believe that she is falling in love, she
tries to define love through outside sources. For instance, as she asks her medicine man, Ketut, about his
relationship with his wife, he can’t seem to give her exactly what she is
looking for. His love seems to be
of a unique and internal state—something that is his own, that both defines his
life and helps him to define the world around him. Liz initially shows as interest in Filipe that cannot be
ignored. In a sense, her feelings
echo Ketut’s plain-stated matter-of-fact chronology of falling n love with his
wife. He says: “Now I tell you how
I find my wife. When I am
twenty-seven years, I meet a girl and I love her” (279).
It is interesting
how the only thinking Liz does concerning Felipe and her feelings for him seem
to act in an effort to refute, overanalyze, or question her feelings. This was honestly kind of annoying to
me, especially as she asked Ketut ad nauseum to divulge information about his
palm reading from months back with Felipe. It is clear that Liz is not merely lusting, but is truly in
love. As she lays on the beach
with Felipe, she feels very comfortable in her general state but also with her
body. Her comfort expressed how a
union of two people can cause each person to feel at home with the interior and
the exterior. As Felipe becomes
and more and more important part of her life, Bali is no longer about Bali, but
it is about Felipe.
I was not a fan of
Liz’s behavior or approach as she was falling in love, especially as this was
not merely any relationship, but the man she’d eventually marry. The woman falling in love with Felipe
should have been a more mature, self-reliant woman than the one who cried on
the bathroom floor in the beginning of the book. Although I’m not necessarily (ok, definitely not) on team
Liz, I saw the end of the book, which highlighted love, as Gilbert’s way of saying it’s not about just a place
anymore. Plus, she sort of
indirectly admits that one cannot find solace that is permanent rather than
temporary from travelling around by oneself, even if it is to the most beautiful,
spiritual, and cuisine-savvy places in the world.
I believe, that
while we are always saying in class that family and loved ones are what truly
defines home, sometimes there is nothing as “home” as a romantic partner. Sure, it comes with the idea or the
notion that once an individual has such a romantic partner that soon after will
come a first home and whatnot, but more importantly, the right sort of love between
two people will create a better state of being “at home” for each person. Liz need not indulge as much in local
food and culture after she has found Felipe. The land becomes secondary, or rather, the land becomes defined
by every encounter and moment spent with Felipe.
When I think about
this concept I can’t help but think of my grandparents. My mom told me, since they died when I
was young, that their first apartment after they were married was a bedroom
with a mattress on the ground.
They constantly had leaks in the ceiling and just about everything
seemed to be wrong with it (think ala It’s
a Wonderful Life). These
things didn’t matter though.
Whether it’s bali or a crappy Boston poor excuse for an apartment, new
love paints a home and transforms it into a palace.
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