Leaving home forever.
At the end of June, I am moving abroad for a year, which means leaving my family home I grew up in.
However, as I move abroad, my parents are also moving house - abroad.
It is difficult coming to terms with the fact that when I leave, I will unlikely ever be in my home again.
I am unsure how to react - do I consciously appreciate every “last”, or do I pretend as if there were no “lasts”, to spare myself the mental and emotional effort?
Do I allow myself to dwell on the happy memories of my childhood spent here, for a bittersweet experience, or do I bombard myself with exciting prospects for my new room, my new home, all the things I have yet to see?
I think, as with all things, the right answer lies somewhere in the middle.
Some days I will be sadder, more nostalgic, and wish to be transported back into the four small walls of my childhood bedroom, which watched me cry, laugh, work, sleep and grow up.
And then, eventually, as with all kinds of loss, looking back won’t hurt as much, because I won’t have craned my sight back to the past in a while, for there will be far more to look forward to.
