Coming home is the worst part. You think that in the midst of a moment of homesickness, it can’t get worse than this. But how do you deal with a homesickness for a place that isn’t your home? Sure it was once, for a brief period of time, but that’s it isn’t it? Brief. Like a blip on the radar. There’s that old clique that home is where the heart is, but sometimes I think that is bullshit. I’m at home, in my bed, surrounded by my family, my dog, my furniture, my bathroom, my clothes, my Alberta snow, and yes I, me feel so alone. My heart is somewhere else. My heart is in the past, in a nostalgic memory. Sure absence makes the heart grower founder but what about the rest of you?
I look at those six months so fondly, yet not all of it was brilliant. I was sad, heartbroken, angry, insecure, and nervous more often then I care to remember, but you know what? I was happy, smiling, laughing, comfortable, safe, secure and content more than I have ever been for an extended period of time. So why does it hurt so much to remember and to think about the experience and to waste hours viewing photos and videos with six60 in the background? Shouldn’t those memories be accompanied by smiles and laughter?
I miss the smell of the fresh air, the sound of a guitar playing, the laughter from miles away, the slack lines, the casual beers, the wild nights, the movie culture, all nighters, the laundry room talk, the care free attitude, the sense of adventure, the spontaneity, the lust and the love. I miss being the Canadian, I enjoyed that being at the forefront of my identity.
I miss the people and our collective circumstance the most. I miss that I could walk out my door, force myself out of what ever funk I was in, and be greeted with a simple smile from a friend. I miss that I won’t go through I day without speaking to someone I knew. I used to pride myself on being very independent and comfortable with my own company. I feel like I’ve lost that now. I want to be content sitting in my room by myself on a Saturday night.
The problem is that I am now stuck in between two old lives. Before I left I had certain relationships and a specific place in them. And whilst I was gone I had that in my new situation as well. But now the before has moved on, strengthened it’s bonds without me, and shifted. And the gone will continues to move forward, but again without me. Continues to grow and develop. All I can do is attempt to hold on to something I am no longer apart of. I start to become afraid. Afraid that I will be forgotten, shifted to the margins and left on my own. I fear my friendships with crumble and that I am becoming a nuance to those who I consider my people. Logically I know that I am silly to think so, but the thing about emotions is they take the piss out of logic. They dance around laughing at rationality.
A friend of mine says we broke up with New Zealand when we left, and she is absolutely right. Another friend also says it’s sometimes okay to feel this way, and she too has it spot on. But I’m not bitter about it. I don’t regret a single moment, or feel angry towards anyone I met over there. Maybe that is why I’m stuck in limbo, there is nothing forcing me forward or pulling me back.
As Tolkien put it : How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart, you know there is no going back?
I really wish I knew. The one certainty among the chaos, is I know I must remain optimistic, must trust in a hope. A hope that my friendships will continue to blossom and grow, that my foundations will solidify, my adventures will continue, and one day my heart will catch up with the rest of me.
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