There are times when I wish I were back home. Home - where I am comfortable, comfortable enough to be me. Sometimes I feel that it is just homesickness, but then again, when I weigh it against facts, there seems to be some deeper, unknown sentiment that binds me to the place.
When I first left home it was for a new job. I was just out of college and my first job required that I move to a different city. I had my doubts about what I was doing. Moving to a new city meant leaving family, friends and everything that I had grown accustomed to. I moved, and surprisingly didn't have too much of a problem getting along with the new place (I must say that the new place was three hours from home, so I invariably ended up at home every weekend). Over time I had to move to a different city, this time further away from home. The frequency of my visits declined. Now they were once in three months. A job change resulted in me moving to yet another city. This time further than the last one...
When I look back at all this I notice one thing that catches my attention. I felt uncomfortable when I had to first move out of home. However the subsequent changes made no impact on me. The only reason I see for it is that none of it was like home. It didn't make a difference where I went, as long as it wasn't home, it was all the same.
I tried to find out what it was that bound me to that place so much that even after two years, I'd rather be there than anywhere else in the world. Today, the answer struck me all of a sudden. It is the bond created when you grow up in a place, grow up with the place. I might try transplanting myself elsewhere, but no matter what I try, I will never be the same elsewhere. The place is part of me and I am part of the place. Wherever I go, I carry a part of my home with me. Wherever I go I know that my home is incomplete without me and that I am never complete unless I go back home.
Now I have made up my mind, I am going home. It is just a matter of time.