confide in me • poetry

homesick

I walked in – the foreign scent engulfed me, it made me want to run, to escape. It made me homesick. But this was home. The plaid pastel yellow walls and the low ceilings, the carpet faded through ages but still soft to touch and the yellow lights. This is home. But it doesn't feel like it. I don't feel at home.

The luggage is shoved in through the squeezed tight main door – I bet a dog could have a bigger door. My parents turn on the boiler to ensure that we don't freeze tonight. This is not home, this is house which we try to call our home. Home is where the heart is, and the heart is where the mind feels at peace. Chaos is the one word to describe my mind, peace is not.

I thought moving to the United Kingdom was the best way for me; maybe it is, and I just don't know it. Maybe I'm just too blinded by the comfort and security of living in the place I'd never thought of stepping out of. Maybe my mind craves the familiarity of family and friends that go back years. Perhaps I'm too scared of exploring the unknown, putting myself out there – I spent seven months here, but these feelings have only just begun – I don't see them going anywhere anytime soon.

I feel out of place here, like I don't belong here; maybe that has nothing to do with the place and everything to do with me. Maybe I've taught my mind to believe that I don't belong here, or anywhere for that matter. But I do. I belong in this moment, in this body, in this world. There must be a reason for me, for my being. And I'm not going anywhere until I figure that out. 

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