I think the first and most overwhelming sensation I experienced upon arriving in Singapore was that of sinking disappointment. It's weird, because I expected to be knocked over with that bursting joy of homecoming. Isn't that the quintessential feeling one has to go through upon returning home after a trip that lasted a whole 10 months? I've not seen my parents, my sister, my friends (apart from Damian), my beagle - for all this time, and of course I miss them all dearly, but what is it about seeing that familiar Changi Airport control tower, that 'Welcome to Singapore' Banner they have outside the airport, that now jarring tone of Singlish, that fills me with such crushing disappointment, instead of an expectant elation?
Recently, another friend of mine with pretty similar circumstances as me, except she went to UK instead of the US, also remarked that homecoming was more of a disappointment than anything. This got me reflecting, as I do with much regularity given my barren schedule, upon my seemingly heartless side. Was it the very familiarity that makes us feel this way? I've been constantly traveling and coming upon the exotic, strange, fascinating and weird, and actually constructing a semblance of home out there. To return to a place where everything is exactly the same as when I left it, seems to belittle everything I have accomplished on my own. It feels as if after all that I've been through the past year, here I am again, back to square one. It's completely silly to think that way, of course, having elevated myself from a freshman to a sophomore in the course of my absence, but it still feels unnatural to not have to begin discovering this new piece of foreign land.
Perhaps returning to a place I once called 'home' is making me question the very definition of what 'home' constitutes. A sanctuary where one feels sheltered and secure, an exclusively private space to have some alone time, or simply a nest to return to for bedtimes? I had been calling that one room in my Lucky Apartment home for the past 10 months, only to relinquish it after two semesters. Seeing how my lease for The Towers doesn't start till August, I'm practically homeless in the US now. Perhaps its the drifting uncertainty of my 'home' that's throwing me off. Where do I truly belong, if my 'home' changes with such regularity? I pride myself for being able to just get up and move on, plough forward, when the time calls for it, but do we all secretly long for somewhere that's permanent and stable? A place we can count on. Sometimes it seems like such a weakness, to require this emblem of stability. Other times I feel like maybe I'm rushing from one place to another in order to find that one perfect location that I know can contain me in my entirety, to base my world around. My true home.
It's as if time is on a complete standstill while I'm here. This doesn't feel like my real life anymore, and day to day, I get that consequence-free wooziness in my head, the kind that accompanies a vacation. I feel as if nothing I do here makes any sort of long term impact on my actual life in the US. Of course, given the recent developments with my dating life, there is nothing I like more than to have that brought into my US life. But I guess sometimes life just throws you curve balls and you just have to make the best out of it at the moment, however excruciatingly hard it may come to be. Of course I know it's going to hurt, we both do. Friends constantly remind me so. But surely they know that if I had given up on this now, the heartbreak that accompanies our eventual parting of ways would be nothing compared to the agony of the uncertainty that would haunt me for ages. For once, I don't have an ulterior agenda for this relationship. It doesn't have that fairytale pressure of 'forever-lasting', it doesn't have to be an epic and beautiful love. It doesn't have to be anything at all, all I want is to just be.
I want my time away to have meant something. I want to know that everything I have worked for has led me down a path where I've encountered what anyone else would not have. I want to have cultivated the mental capacity to recognize it when utter ignorance is uttered by those too afraid to venture out. Mostly, I long for a validation, a clear sign that my efforts did not go to waste. For someone to say, completely sober, "Look at how he's changed, it would not have been possible without his experiences and death-defying struggles."
Do I fear going back, now that I've been through a year of it and know what I'll be up against? Yes, I do. I know the ache of loneliness, the dazed detachment during significant days, and not having someone from my inner circle to talk to. But I also know that there is much to look forward to. Rushing new pledges for the Fall semester, moving in and decorating my new apartment in The Towers, coming into contact with numerous new fields of study... Being a sophomore. However tough it is, it's my real life now. And I'll enjoy the one month of holidays I have left to the best of my abilities.
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