I hated home — I’m just gonna say it. I used to be one of those kids who could not sit with the idea of staying home for more than 2 weeks. Anything about home gave me that “ick”.
A friend of mine once said: “Find someone who loves you as much as Mido loves escaping from home”. He was not wrong. I always found a way to leave: a new place to study, work, travel — anything.
Now, it’s been two months since I moved back home, without a plan to leave. Contrary to what you might be thinking right now, it took me less than a second to make this decision.
I realized, after all those years, home is indeed where the heart is. So, what is it that I made me decide to come back? Here are some of them:
1. The tiny little bits of love
I sounds strange — doesn’t it. Who doesn’t love love and who doesn’t miss being loved? I didn’t — I don’t think I ever missed it.
I had just as much love from my community when studying overseas. I also was not going through anything major: losses, injuries, social isolation. I never felt like I needed an extra dose of love.
That was until I first went to the hospital on my own. Maybe I’m old. Maybe working full-time takes a toll on me. I get sick more often. I didn’t realize how scary it was being alone at a hospital until I was in a new city.
Until 24, my parents had always gone with me to any of my check-ups back at home. The processes, the paperwork, finding where to go, queuing for your name to be called — doing all on my own, it felt like torture.
There’s something extremely vulnerable about being at a hospital, alone. I mean people die there, right? For the first time, I felt that so deeply.
I started to see the little things I once took for granted. I didn’t have to worry about anything, because I knew my parents would always be there. That all was the product of love.
Love doesn’t have to feel grand: that you are pampered, showered with gifts. It doesn’t have to feel like absolute understanding and approval: that they will say yes to whatever you want.
Love is, after all, the peace of mind that someone will always be there.
It doesn’t get better when you stay overseas for work. The flu, the cold, the period cramps, everything feels so major. At one point, you start thinking: “I wish mom was here with me”.
2. The nagging
There were times I wished otherwise. My parents always give their opinion and advice, whether I asked for it or not. I hated how it made me feel like I was a child, that I didn’t know what I was doing.
I thought being able to pack, move, cook for myself meant I was invincible against the world. I thought I must know better than them, because I met people, saw places, and did things my parents had never done. I was naive.
It was only until I started working did I realized: the people I knew before was just a minority. Most of them I knew from school. We shared the same upbringing, the same values, even the same friends — or boyfriends.
The truth is: the rest of the world doesn’t care about you. There’s minimal common ground between you and the people you meet outside of school. So there’s no risk in fucking you over if it helps advance their own interests, because there’s no accountability.
Also, having read about narcissism, you know how people can be extremely skillful at using others: whether for monetary or emotional gains. As much as I didn’t want to, I had to admit:
I didn’t know anything, and I really should have listened to my parents.
The little things they told me that seemed so irrelevant before suddenly all makes sense:
Be careful with the guys who are good with their words
People who are too nice always want something from you
Don’t try to be friend with everyone.
You don’t know everything.
I always learned from my mistakes. But at some point, the wounds from these mistakes were so painful that I wish I could hit undo.
3. The people
Apart from my friends, I didn’t feel like I could relate to the people at home:
People were loud: shouting across the street, calling each other’s names in the middle of the office, arguing incessantly. I preferred silence.
People were idle: they came back because that was the easier choice. I preferred challenges.
Now, I know that I am no better than them. Maybe I endured things a bit longer, maybe they just realized all of this earlier. Regardless, it’s just that everything has its limits, including myself.
After all the people-pleasing, I want to speak up for myself.
After all the hardship, I want to, for once, not do everything on my own.
I like tranquility, but I don’t like being silenced. I used to not be afraid to speak up when things were wrong. Loudness is not bad. I miss the noise. I miss people calling my name on the street, passing me on their Grab bike.
I liked challenges, but I never wanted to have my happiness rely solely on work. I worked in places that glorify labor, where self-identity is sacrificed in the name of the common good.
Maybe that’s what people do for their countries: the Singaporeans, the Hongkongese. We are all family — so please keep giving until you have nothing else to lose. That’s what family does.
Thing is, neither was that my country nor my family. Now, I’d rather be there for my own family. To be with them at the good time and the bad time, so they can be there for me at my bad time and my good time.
I will continue writing about Coming back to home — where my heart didn’t feel like it could belong. I will talk about my relationship with home, my decision to come back home, my reconciliation with the concept of home this week. Follow for more :)
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