It’s good to be home. I think? I’ve been home for around two weeks now, and although I’ve slipped fairly easily back into the routine of daily life in my small town in the South West of England, there’s a few things which aren’t sitting so well. It’s not that I’ve found it difficult to come back to my life in England. I was so happy to see my family and friends again after a third of a year away, and more than half a year since I left university. So much so, in fact, that I haven’t really stopped since I got back, for running about everywhere to try and fit in trips away, and days out, and nights out before we all go back to our respective universities.
But I miss it. Oh, I miss it. It’s so strange to wake up in the same bed every morning with nowhere to go, nowhere new to explore. I don’t want to be sedentary. I’ve been making more of an effort to be active since I got back, having been used to walking or cycling pretty much everywhere on my travels. I miss the scooters though! Driving a moped here doesn’t have quite the same cool factor.
I love my friends, but I’m going to miss the variety of the people I met whilst I was away. The fact that everyone is a little more interesting than they would be back home. Perhaps it’s the impermanence of the relationships you forge on the road which makes them so special. And so sad, sometimes. So much is left unsaid. There are so many loose threads.
I feel like I’m all wrong for my old life. Like I’m trying to fit into a square, grey box which can’t contain me anymore. I hope it will be different when I go back to university. Already, some of the most vibrant experiences of my time away are slightly faded memories.