Coming Home

Sydney, Australia (3 days after return)

I have been home for three days now and my body is weary. I am not sure if I am still jet lagged or maybe I am a little depressed.

I go to the travel agent before I even unpack my bags. “Maybe I will go to India” I say to the lady. “Have you travelled before” she asks. “Actually I just got home yesterday” I reply.

Coming home is comforting. I take large gulps of shower water. I drive my car with the security of knowing where I am going. (Being careful to remember that there are in fact road rules here. I cannot honk my horn instead of indicating).

It is the first time in four months that my feet are not caked in dirt. I can drink tap water again and the cool crisp air is refreshing after sixteen weeks of humidity.  I get to sleep in my own bed and finally unpack my bags.

But it is quiet here and it feels like something is missing.

Coming home has been is in part a paradox. Realising that everything has changed, yet nothing has.

I am not sure if I am different. I know I don’t want my life to become average. I have seen and experienced too much to be content with monotony.

So what now?

In time I am sure I will be able to understand how I have changed and what I should do next. But for now I feel like I am in limbo waiting until I fly away again.