Homesick

I miss home. Every part of it. I wish I could go back. Why am I not going? Am I exiled? Or have I created exile in my mind? I really don’t know. The thought of going home makes me sick and the longing makes me hopeful. Do you know how it feels to be in the middle of such a feeling?

I wanted to forget everything. Everything. Every connection that held me. Scheming my one true desire to escape forever. But when I left my home two months back, everything started to become stronger. My urge, forcible forgetting, and connections. Before leaving I told my friend I wanted to be oblivious and I would never return, however, I didn’t know that to be oblivious I had to forget myself first. I should be lacking conscious awareness of my existence and subsequently thinking of making a new life. 

Moving away from home makes you closer to yourself. So, you hold on to what has become stronger rather than letting it hold you. Homesickness is not a disease. It’s how you are adapting. The responsive adjustment to your surroundings. It starts with resentment, then suddenly you start to realize your urge to disappear is here. It is actually here. You’ve taken a place for yourself, paid the rent, got a job. All this is done. Now what? This moment is where it all comes down. You are just not ready for all of this. You don’t know where you get good food to eat, people are strange and the roads lead to somewhere and nowhere at the same time. You left what was comfortable, and now you are finding the same comfort in strangeness. You do it on purpose.

In the process, you make an imaginary world for yourself where you think nothing is normal in the place you left. You think your family has stopped living as they used to when you were there. You think your friends do not enjoy the cigarette anymore. But nothing is happening. They too are making it normal like you. Comforting themselves in this strangeness and void.