I don’t speak to my family enough. I miss them, and I wish to tell them that. But it seems that every time I speak to them, I run out of words to express what’s really been going on.
Family: ‘Are you better?’
No I’m not, and I’m fighting it everyday, and it’s tiring. Help me. Please. I just want you to be there, you don’t have to tell me it’ll be alright, I just need to be able to sit and breath with you.
Me: ‘Yeah I’m fine. It’s slowly getting better.’
I feel helpless. Because I don’t even know how to start helping myself, let alone give instructions to those who care regarding how to help me. I’ve failed once again. I’m an open book, but the words are all jumbled and no one can understand them, neither can I.
Throughout primary school, my parents had both worked, taking on busy schedules, and only returning home for dinner. Occasionally accompanied with toys and gifts from a trip abroad. I was used to walking home alone, to extracurricular lessons, to do my homework, to meet friends.
I’m not afraid of being alone.
From a young age, I had been sent off to many summer camps, learning, enjoying, and spending time away from home. It prepared me to feel entirely comfortable living in tents in a dark forest, where the night sky is illuminated with stars and occasionally occluded with dark clouds.
I’m not afraid of the dark.
In the last two years of high school. I had spent time away from home, studying at a boarding school in Hong Kong. Enduring the most serious and heart-wrenching breakup, withstanding the falling apart of what was mistaken as friendship, and surviving a whole two years of learning about myself.
I’m not afraid of bad times.
But all those time away from home, away from family, it’s different from now. I came home alone and left home alone knowing that my parents would be there in the evening. I left for the summer knowing full well that I’d return by August. I got through boarding school knowing that graduation was a definitive end to bring me home.
All the other places were simply temporary destinations, places that I’d reach out to, and then bounce back, like an elastic. But this time, it’s different. Home is the temporary destination that I’d visit, and return back here to England, to the UK.