Why is the fun gone? Coming home, feeling guilty and dragging my heels…

Sigh. *paces* Harumph. *sits down heavily in armchair* Pfft. *blows fringe out of face* So I’ve been home for nearly a month, and guess what? I’m moving out tomorrow, back to Exeter for another year at university, this time studying a brand new course which hopefully won’t make me want to hibernate all day in my room, eating cheese and crackers and whining about my abject misery to anyone who’ll listen. But never mind that…

I’m all packed – as usual with far too much stuff to take – and aside from the usual last minute panics and remembering things I forgot, I’m ready to head back for Freshers’ Week. Take two!

Trouble is, I’m feeling a little flat. I’ve mentioned this already. Before I got home, I was so full of it. So keen on writing, I bought a few more notebooks – always a necessity – to start journalling by hand whilst my laptop was out of action, I finished reading Eat, Pray, Love, and I couldn’t wait to get home, and start catching up on all my posts. The trouble is, it hasn’t really worked out like that.

Me and the fam after my return

I haven’t really blogged. I’ve barely managed to upload my photographs. I haven’t stayed in touch with most of those travel friends. I have not made indie and eye-catching collages from the hundreds of maps I collected in Asia. What I HAVE done is been camping, run around trying to see everyone, sat around quite a bit, taken my dogs for a couple of walks, and generally started stirring the pudding bowl of “what a mess” which my life has a tendency to become at home.

I imagine everybody gets this; that weird “what now?” feeling which comes from returning after a long period of travel, even if you’ve got new and exciting things ahead of you… I’m starting university again! I’m excited to see all my friends and study something I find truly fascinating. But whilst I know this, my heart just doesn’t seem to be in it. Perhaps it’s not me. I find that I can’t concentrate on one thing. I’ve got no head space and so no inclination to just sit down and write about all the things I saw and did. For goodness’ sake, my online journal here is still stagnating on my first few days in Thailand! That was three months ago! PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, GIRL!

It’s a hope above and beyond all others that I will settle once I’m into the university routine. That I’ll be able to write and study and socialise and live my life without feeling like I’m missing out on something; without feeling like I’m poised on the edge of my seat, waiting to take off somewhere again.

With everything that’s been in the news recently about the refugee crisis, my flighty migrations and future plans seem frivolous and wasteful. I’m travelling because I want to, for my own happiness and fulfilment. There are people walking across continents because they have nowhere else to go; because their homes have been destroyed. It seems callous of me to just take off without considering that some people never have a choice.

And I always feel terrible about this kind of thing, because until you really start to consider it, it never hits just how close these incidents and these worldwide, drawn out problems, really are to home. Calais isn’t far. It isn’t far at all. The jumping off point for most people visiting France is hardly a couple of miles from a place where thousands of people are living without the basic necessities for living. Where disease and suffering is rife. How much are we really doing, sharing around posts of bodies in the water and the contrast of smiling faces in Munich welcoming the refugees into Germany? I want to help. I think that’s part of my problem.

I always want to help but so often I don’t have the organisation or the forethought or the motivation to do so. And really, I’m just as bad as everyone else who only recently sat up and took notice.

I know my sporadic posts haven’t been the most positive recently. It’s odd, because although I feel fairly rested and like I’m happy, I don’t like myself as much as I did when I was away. I’m finding myself caring more and more about stupid, banal things. Things which don’t matter, which I might have worried about a year ago but I’d like to think wouldn’t affect me so much now. Maybe I haven’t grown as much as I thought?

Until next time,

x Bea

One Reply to “Why is the fun gone? Coming home, feeling guilty and dragging my heels…”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *