This post is probably going to alienate a few people. See, I’ve been feeling rather nostalgic for home of late (what, didn’t my 90s post give it away?) Proceed with caution.
You might be able to relate to the nostalgia; we live in a shit and crazy world these days. The recent terrorist attacks in Belgium are a fresh pick at a scab that will probably never heal. Granted, terrorism isn’t a new thing but I was naive growing up so it doesn’t appear in my memory much, if at all. It really was a golden time in my mind’s eye. Prices and shoulder pads were sensible, music was truly genius, organic was a natural state of affairs and each morning was ever ripe with possibility.
I miss my family like you wouldn’t believe. I am longing to be back in idyllic Kenya with my head in mother’s lap listening to her voice as she tells me a story. I want to be back with my friends of childhood, never mind that they have moved on and have children of their own. I long to chase my siblings around the compound, they were always too quick for me. I miss dreaming about what I would be when I grow up – the dreams seem so stale now that I am all grown up.
I am incredibly lucky to make Australia my home – the heart swells and threatens to burst with joy when I think of the journey that has brought me this far and the opportunities that abound in this place that has welcomed me with wide open arms.
So then why do I feel so paralysed? Caught in the middle? I’m convinced a visit to mother is necessary. But until then, everything seems to have lost a little of its flavour, some of its lustre, and is missing a touch of charm.
Are you like me, a migrant that belongs everywhere yet nowhere?
A little lost at the same time a little grounded?
Are you per chance, a little homesick?