I'm home, here in our new house, hidden deep among oil palm trees. I've been home for almost a week now, having gone through a family holiday in Paris and Edinburgh, and my big day: graduation. That's it, I'm a working adult now.
And so begins the next phase of my life, the longest one: my working life. Still lots of question marks surrounding my own future, biggest of all the where and when. At least I know what I want to be, now I just have to figure out the how.
Though something has been bugging me since I came home. I've only been back for almost a week, yet I can't help but wish I'm back in Dundee already.
Is it the independence I crave, that I can go anywhere I want, do anything I wish when I'm back there?
Or perhaps I'm feeling that it's a waste of time sitting on my bed all day, when there's paperwork and househunting to be done.
Amidst this, there's also another thing that pops in and out of my mind. An idea I used to cast aside, using reasons like obligations and patriotism to ward it off, as if that would convince me to make a stand. As of late, they weren't enough anymore.
Because for the first time, I'm seriously thinking of emigration.
Why? I'm not even sure myself. I think it's because I have lost my sense of belonging, my sense of 'home'. I feel like I don't belong anywhere. Like 'home' isn't confined within the boundaries of a city, a state, a country.
I felt like a bird which is set free from its cage.
Free. But without a home.
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