I’m homesick as hell. My countdown to my first trip home in over a year – 16 days away – is now a question mark, hung in the stretching string of uncertainties sitting over all our heads right now. It’s a 0, a “postponed until no one knows when”. As a human, and therefore selfish, I must allow myself some time to set aside the much much harder journey many countless others have ahead, just so that I can get my head back to the centerline again and set my feet back down to be the grounding someone else needs to see.
Just how normal are things allowed to be when they are as alien as they could be? Unprecedented. Unheard of. There’s extremes – hoarding, and discrediting. Disbelief and appropriation. A big math game of resources, and who has them, and who doesn’t, and how no one takes even a single tiny peace of anything when they, well, inevitably die, at some point in life. It feels a bit like turning around in circles on a spinning platform that’s orbiting something else.
Like a non-native plant, I blossom in foreign soil, but not with the same effortless ease as my home land: inside of me is always the issue of just how easily I could get shooed out of this country. That’s the essence of why I can’t leave, logistics at the peripheral; every day is different, and changing, and bringing new horrors and new hopes. Wise is the one that stays still.
But I so, so badly just want to go home. And times like these remind me of my choices, press them up against my face to be scrutinized again and again. I couldn’t have stayed; I don’t always wish I would’ve gone.
The whole planet doesn’t feel big enough for this.
Neither does my body. Weird, how such big contradicting feelings can fit inside one person – I’d do anything to be on a flight home right now, and I’d also immediately take a one-way trip to Mars no questions asked. And in the middle of being dazed and confused I can pause, let these feelings out, take a deep breath and keep going, one step after another, because things will get better, they always will.