Back to home or back from home?

I’m back, dreary and weary.

I haven’t worn my smile like I have the past two weeks. My laughter isn’t coated with as much joy. My eyes are tired and shy. I haven’t felt the warmth in me – the sort I feel when I’m awake in S’s arms as he smiles sleepily and says good morning.

It’s – heaven forbid – insanely hot.But it was insanely hot last week too. Except without the humidity, that I loathe so much.

I’m back in some sort of familiarity. The sort where I spring into my parents’ arms, and tell my brother stupid things the moment I saw them. The sort where I arrive and know exactly where to go, and whom I can talk to.

But still, that familiarity didn’t welcome me wholeheartedly. Or maybe it was the other way round. This home feels distant, which is strange considering I moved around a lot the past two weeks.

It feels like it has gone on routine. I’ve caught up, and I’m back in the routine. I spent 3 months counting down to the past 2 weeks, and now I’m lost without it.

I’ve always felt very much in control whenever I was in Europe. Even though I don’t really speak their language or know my street directions. But back here, life always feels like I’m following a wave and it’s taking me on a ride beyond my control, like I’m just waiting for something to happen. And I really do detest that feeling of waiting for something to happen.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike uncertainty. I’ve always embraced uncertainty in my plans. Not knowing where I’ll be in a year or two. The idea of that very adventure feels great – but I should have the upper hand in deciding what the adventure will be like.

I’ve a couple of ideas of what I want to do and it will take a bit of planning to get there. What I thought was irrational became increasingly feasible over the past 24 hours. But as always, plans are just words and ideas. And many things happen along the way. So we’ll see.

For now, one thing is clear. It sucks to be back.

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