Homesick written 19th May 2024
I feel double whatever this feeling is, you know when you’ve lived somewhere all your life, made friends who became family, where you found yourself and maybe even lost yourself, that small community you found yourself in at school, church or work spaces….Yes you know that feeling too don’t you?
Then one day you decide there has to be more to this story you held so dear. The only narrative you had or still have of yourself since whenever it was you, found you.
So you move to a new town, a new city, a new country and there you start afresh.
You arrive in your new home, and first you see this place from the perspective of a tourist, hit all the best sites, learn the transportation system, try the local food, go to a cultural day or two,…..then soon you make friends and start to live like the indigenous people who were born and raised there. You grow your friend network, find a new wavelength for your life that has completely different vibrations from your last life and suddenly it starts to feel like home. Not the old home….a new one that only you understand and appreciate because it’s been created by the new version of you, a free, unidentified version that the new community know and love. The version you always wanted to be before you left home but couldn’t be ( you have too much history there).
That’s where I start off today……..welcome to the story of the Small-town Girl.
I lived away from my ‘home town’ for years.
Now that I’ve moved back….roads, apartments, malls, smells are familiar but so very unfamiliar, and it has been the hardest thing to adjust to. Circumstances brought me back, now I choose this space everyday and consciously try to make it it feel like home again.
It took me a couple of weeks to give my resignation from a job I loved, children I loved and a new role I had been in for less than a year. This role was perfect for my personality and would put my skills (learned on the job ) to greater good. I was finally feeling like I was making an impact, in the classroom (teaching my classes) and out of the classroom (meetings that bring these changes, having talks that affect the trajectory of the school year and each child individually). That part of the journey was something I was just getting used to when everything changed.
So I gave my resignation and started the transition back ‘home’ from the one I had built for myself out there and from the community that took me in, out there.
I took my last trip to the market, take that last walk to work, ate my last meal in my house, showed my dog Thogithi the spices one more time and later he sat in my lap and dozed one last time, put my feet in the freezing river one last time, comforted Thogithi because of the loud thunder one more time, I chase him around the compound one last time for the baths he hates one last time, taught that lesson one last time, visited that friend one last time, look at Mt.Kenya from my living room window one more time, sit on the freshly cut grass one last time. I sat at my lovely table and painted one last time, sitting where 12 paintings were born one last time.
I eat that food I didn’t really like because it’s good for me one last time, I played tag with the kids one more time then pretended to be upset one more time because they didn’t catch me one more time, my flabber was gasted one last time because of her audacity one last time, I drank my last cup of warm cow milk one more time, tell the kids that story one more time, we cross the road with Thogithi one last time then we went and bought his favorite omena one last time, I hug that friend good-bye one last time. I drew on my chalkboard one last time and read them that storybook on the fluffy carpet one more time.
Eat that Bundu brownie one last time, order that meal one last time, I fluff T’s cushion one last time and scold him for stealing that shoe in the early morning one last time, I make that call one more time knowing we’ll see each other soon one last time, say hello to the neighbour through our fence one last time as I held her baby one more time, he splashes water on my face one last time and barks in the early morning one last time, then we smell the geranium leaves as we walk home one last time, we sat at the fireplace warming up one last time. I took that game drive to a friends house one last time and eat a marshmallow at the firepit one last time.
I took that boda lesson one last time, said hello to that lady who sells fresh milk one last time and I walk that stretch of road one last time, then I wave good-bye to the man who always walks with a cane one last time as he tells me yet another story from the neighbourhood one last time. I got dressed up and went to those parties in the forest one last time and picked those berries one more time. I said hello to the ‘nyumba kumi’ leader one last time as I hear the neighbours chickens clucking one last time. Pay my rent one last time, hosted friends one last time, brewed my freshly roasted and ground coffee beans one last time, went for swimming one more time, took my trusted dog to the river one last time and later I transported him to a new family, that too would be our last time spending that much time together. So much beauty was birthed here for the first time, so much comes with me forever more. Yet in all these emotions, so much stays here, my heart included…that part lingers a little longer.
I sort all the belongings I have into separate piles. I start to label the piles as they sit in my spare bedroom. I kept what I could and sold whatever I could afford to part with, my heart broke as the realization of this dawns on me.
The boxes start to fill up and take up the space on my grey and white carpet marked(not for sale). The fill up the empty spaces and so I moved them to the living room and taped them one by one. I label every last one the name of the ‘home‘ they will now go to and make sure I note its contents on the top one last time. My living room looks messier and messier yet the other rooms look emptier and emptier as D-day draws near.
I make a flier and settle on a price for everything, all a fraction of the price I bought them at…that breaks my heart because of the value they hold in my heart. I download the flier and send it to a friend, two friends, and then three.
I still remember the day my first item got sold and picked up, that night I grieved the life I was leaving and the different things that made a house a home leaving the safety of my home, each one took a piece of me with it. I remember the day each item was added to my home and grew attached not to not just one thing, but everything as a whole because I handpicked them for MY space, my home… now they would find new homes. I decide which paintings I am going gift because their new home is here and carry the rest to a home they’d never met, those ones were created here in N. This is actually happening!!!!!
I remember sealing the last box, and placing it in the trunk of the car one last time…
I’m back ‘home‘ now and everything feels different. This isn’t the place I knew so well, my first feeling is…I don’t belong and I want to run back to what was familiar. It seems like we outgrew each other, yet this is my ‘home‘ right? No one understands why it doesn’t feel like ‘home‘ anymore because they weren’t there in your transition years, they only know the old version of you.
I am homesick for anywhere but here, yet the people who are my home are here. I am homesick for me, the version before everything changed….yet those were my best years so I am homesick for them too. This is the season where my old life and new life merge into one.
I am homesick for a home I haven’t made yet, but I know is coming.
I am homesick for the Small-town girl.
I am homesick for home.
That Nicte' 
where’s the tearing emoji……
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😢😢 come join me in crying with this one ❤️
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