My thoughts on what is home. You can find a little back story in my previous post (home, pt. 1).
And so I left for the UK late summer of 2017 – crying my eyes out on the plane and singing my mom a happy birthday song on facetime (while simultaneously sobbing) a few days later. I bought plane tickets home for mid-autumn, I couldn’t bear the thought of being away for more than a couple of months. I then came back for Christmas. And for spring break. And then I wasn’t home for half a year.
I met my boyfriend that September of 2017, this was a big help to get my mind away from things. I made very good friends with some of my flatmates and coursemates. My studies were going well. Still, something wasn’t right – I used to have very random crying sessions from utterly missing my family.
I stayed in the UK for the summer of 2018 to work, because I knew that it was the rational thing to do – not that I wanted to be away for half a year. I then came back for a little bit early autumn, yet didn’t come back for Winter break. I looove Christmas and spending it with my family is my favourite thing on Earth. However, my job was demanding for me to stay. I stayed. Was it worth it? Absolutely not. Go home for Christmas, my fellow immigrants.
I came back mid-January after exams for a couple of weeks and home was nothing like I used to imagine it. I had nothing to do because all of my friends are studying in other cities, my parents were doing their own thing. Then, for the first time ever, I realised that I kind of like my life in Newcastle. I have my own routine which I can follow, I can control my life back there, I am not responsible for anything but myself. I didn’t even want to go home for the summer! This part is key here. I was so so sad having to admit that to myself, I felt like I was betraying the most important thing in my life – I didn’t really need home anymore.
It’s dangerous to be dependant on someone/something as much, you know. You love it so badly and when it suddenly goes away/when you can’t longer see it or experience it, you create a perfect image of it in your head. It’s a natural thing to do because you miss it so much. When time passes, your love doesn’t go away, but the image starts to alter. People tend to forget things they don’t particularly like and swap those for idealistic details. That happened to me I guess. When I saw a different reality – not bad, but just different, I got disappointed. Childish of me? Might be.
The truth is, my home was never perfect, and it’s never going to be that way. That is the meaning of a family – it’s a group of people with problems going through them together. I think I just distanced myself from the difficult part of what family is, but not intentionally – it’s easy to get caught and only look after yourself. It’s easier to imagine that everything is perfect 2000 kilometers away and, most importantly, to think that it will never change. After coming back for the summer and spending a month with my beloved ones I know that some things will actually never change – it warms my heart to know that I will always have a place to come back to, a place in which I feel loved and supported no matter what. At the same time though, I now know that I am my home. I now know that I will be okay no matter where I am.
Maybe it’s simply called growing up but for me it was a tough, emotionally draining journey. Now, when I am at peace with my own head, I can really say that I could depend solely on myself and no one else. Still, I hope that I will never have to do that – being independent doesn’t mean that you can’t turn on others to a healthy extent. You are your home, but it’s nice to have someone hanging around.