The tradgedy of returning home


It’s been raining since I arrived. Downpour after downpour. The sky, grey as far as I can see, is crackling. Perhaps this has been the best part of my return.

From hugging friends goodbye and trying to squeeze ‘final’ words (which never come out right) over phone calls, the heart inside has been weary and has since aged. From airplane to airplane and the numerous transits in between, coming home never used to be like this.

There was a time where even the exhaust of over-sized trucks and the rumble of broken roads were welcoming. There was a time where the maddening chaos and the utter disdain of any semblance of civility was a warm reminder of the Nepal I had grown to love, from a distance.

Having been immersed in all of Nepal, my home, our church, work, and friends, the comfort of potholes has worn off like the asphalt that never seems to stay together. The livelihood of the streets seems to be replaced with a deep sickening of disorganization.

And yet, this is home.

Having finished the last leg of my adventures, there is a sadness that has spread like a floor flooded with toilet water. There is great disappointment in knowing that the next few times I’ll go to the “departure” section of the airport it’ll be to send someone off. From here on, I’ll look more forward to the arrivals.
There is a restlessness that extends limbs and shows teeth, yawning, as it awakes from the sleep new stamps in my passport put it to. The desire for something more. To be adventurers. To be wanderers. The hope of meeting people again. The hoping to parting with even fewer regrets. More memories.

Such is my lust for something new that I am the biggest critic of what I love best. I love the feel of being somewhere I’ve never been before. Of placing forkful and spoonful of new tastes in my mouth. Of letting my lips explore. Of letting my tongue be entranced. The thrill is unbeatable, and of all the grand new experiences there are few that I will ever put into words.

Though words are my passion and my link to some form of immortality, some of the best bits of life are best kept in my memory. For them to age, like fine wine. For me to visit when I should so feel like. To remember a reason to smile. I have that, thank you for it.

What battles I must face now is the arduous task of accepting monotony. For a while anyways. The urge for more persists.

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1 comment
  1. Ellie said:

    You have a fine way with words! For what it’s worth, I heard someone the other day basically begging the forces that be to go to Kathmandu.

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