Ever since I had to move away from my
childhood home to go to university, I have written quite a few pieces
on 'Home' (like this and this). Some of these I have shared on here, poems and short
stories mostly, as well as reflections such as “Dear Desk”. Back
in late 2014, I even wrote a non-fiction piece as part of some CBC
books writing event on Places of Belonging. I kept that piece a
secret from those I knew due to its biographical nature. It was
online for a while, but it seems that it, along with most of the
others, has been taken down. To be honest, there is a part of me that
would like to post that non-fiction piece, even after all this time,
but I think it's best for now to keep it to myself.
Anyways, in the last few years, I have
moved out of my childhood home to go four and a half hours away to
study. I've lived on campus in residence and spent two years in an
apartment with a roommate, only to recently return to my childhood
home. I've felt the pangs of homesickness, both at university and
even at my childhood home. That sense of belonging was in flux.
When I first arrived at university, I
felt alright, but that first night was one of homesickness. In all
honesty, it didn't last terribly long. The people were friendly and I
quickly built a whole life there. But as I would learn when I
returned to my childhood home, that shifted my sense of belonging.
For three years, every time I would
return, I would find myself feeling as if I didn't belong in the
place I grew up in. I was so out of touch with my old friends and no
matter what I did, I couldn't help but to feel like I didn't quite
belong there anymore. My place, my home, was four and a half hours
away. Well, there are exceptions to this, one especially that is
outlined in the aforementioned non-fiction piece, but that is for
another time.
As a consequence, I tried to escape
from this place, hide myself in fictional worlds, whether of my own
creation or not. But in the past three years, a lot changed here.
There was the Crash, which changed the very makeup of my family
forever, and the year after, I lost one of my oldest friends
unexpectedly. It was no longer just not feeling like I belonged.
Home had become a graveyard. It was
buried under miles of memories that were spread over everything. They
seemed to suffocate the life out of everything, leaving it all empty
and only room for sorrow and loss. Every time I returned, I could
feel my mind slowly being lost to it all, to the emptiness of it all,
the absence of those who were once always present.
So when I returned, I clung to symbols
for that life back at my university, whether loves of mine or close
friends across the world. I was standing half buried in a graveyard,
and they felt like a hand extending out to me just waiting to pull me
free and return me home. And, surely enough, eventually I was freed
and returned to my apartment so far away from that place that felt
like a graveyard.
But as I packed up my things to leave
that apartment forever, I didn't feel as if I was leaving home. I
knew that I had to leave eventually and that my time out there was
up. And when I returned, that graveyard had disappeared. It was home
again. It had changed since the last time it felt that way, but it
was home.
It's strange. It went from being
buried underneath memories of the past to being bright with the
future. While I still have some time away, farther than I've ever
been, this place will remain home and I know it's here that I begin
to build my future. I apologize for all the references without
information, but maybe I'll even be lucky enough to get that
aforementioned place of belonging back, or, rather, to go back to it
again. We will see, and maybe one day I'll share that non-fiction
piece with others.
Anyways, I think I've gone on for long
enough. It seems that these feelings of belonging and home can be as
fickle as I have been known to be in the past. I guess all I can do
is just accept it and learn to follow them. But this is enough for
now. Take care. Until next time,
-Zero
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