I have been thinking about this post for months now. Here it is. At least the first part of it.
Let me tell you, I am such a home person. Ever since I was a little girl I never liked spending nights at someone else’s. Not that I was scared of anything or didn’t have friends, I just never liked sleeping anywhere else than my bed, my safe and familiar place to be. I’ve always said that my family is my biggest strength – I guess loving home so much stems from that. Trips with my family were okay, in such cases I wasn’t too uncomfortable. And yet, I would come back home super tired – physically and mentally. I’m not sure if it’s the reason for, or the outcome of this not-enjoying-unfamiliar-places thing, but I have developed huge problems with insomnia. I can never sleep when I’m somewhere I haven’t slept at least a few times before. I can literally spend all night looking at the ceiling. Pretty frustrating. But it’s not about that this time.
And so, this family loving girl who has never been away from home and her parents for more than a week makes a decision to move and study abroad. That summer of 2017 was the most difficult, painful, happy-sad and melancholic summer of my life. It might sound super dramatic for some, but it’s true. Every step, every moment of that summer was so precious to me – during every happy moment that I had with my friends and my family, deep down I was so so so sad, just because I knew it would break my heart to leave. And it did. I can say that I broke my own heart on 13th of August of 2017.
Why would you do that? I don’t know, honestly. I would have been perfectly fine staying and studying in Lithuania with my friends, maybe moving to another city two or three hours away from my family. I’m not saying that it’s easy for people who chose this path, cause I know it’s not. I would have struggled either way, but I really went all in. My very random decision to go to the UK was made pretty early – I was preparing for my IELTS exam and taking extra English lessons ever since I turned seventeen. I feel like everyone was expecting that from me (my parents, my friends), just because I started talking about it and working towards it so early on. I don’t know at what point I realised that maybe it’s not what I want. It was too late for that though.
The funny thing was – I wasn’t scared of a new country, you know. I wasn’t excited either. I was not at all bothered. I didn’t care at the time – all I knew was that when I come back home, it won’t be the same. It wasn’t moving abroad thing, it was all about leaving home.
It might all sound really negative, but looking back it was one of the hardest and best decisions of mine. I grew so much! I found new friends, I found love. At the same time though, I was right – every time I came back to visit, my home was never how I remembered it. I carried this sadness and odd disappointment with me everywhere for two years, until this summer.
It’s currently an early morning in rainy Vilnius, a city which is 3 hours away from my hometown. I moved here about a week ago after a full month at home with my family, friends and thoughts. This city is going to be my home for 2 months, I am doing an internship here. I’m then flying back to Newcastle. After finishing this upcoming year at uni, I’m moving somewhere else.
What is home? How did this concept change? Did it change? What does it mean in a life of a young person? This post is already too long, so I will continue in the next one.