I came to the States with my life in two pieces of luggage. I was 23.
Now, I’m leaving with double the amount of luggage, and feeling twice as old – even though it has only been just a year.
A year I still could not believe had happened.
A year in which I got shoved into the big black hole of Growing Up.
A year in which I made some of the toughest decisions; paid for the price, harvested the fruits, sometimes all at once.
A year which taught me more about human relationships, both the romantic and the platonic, than any hanging-out-and-yum-cha session could ever impart.
A year that picked up my beliefs, my principles, my worldview, my perspective, my assumptions (this constitutes the majority chunk), and threw it back on my face. Somehow, face dripping with the remains of the old Me, I am the better for it.
A year which I could finally breathe in my own skin, and wondering why the heck I lugged all those layers around for so long.
A year which I wronged, apologized, lost.
A year which I gained.
A year that dragged this coward into a ride of her worst fears, and pulled out a bedraggled, dazed person-thing who couldn’t believe she survived. (No, I’m not talking about those darn roller coasters – unlike mine, those rides hardly make you wiser. Just look at the amount of people who kept going back for more.)
A year that I saw the Jesus in many around me, those who extended their hand, their saving hand, to this undeserving, eternally grateful sinner.
A year which took me to places I’ve only dreamt of, met people who made all the difference, saw amazing sights that, as my brother-in-law would like to say, caused some serious mind-fuchuk-ness. Yet, YET, for some reason, I still manage to come to a conclusion that if you get right down to it, Everywhere is the Same.
A year that made me see my country with new eyes, and discovered that truly, despite everything, I love my home. Warts, inefficiencies, corruption, dirty politics, questionable economic standards, and all – for I realise that these made me angry and sad, more than the Amazing America can ever make me.
To me, Home isn’t where the heart is. Home is where the hurt is.
For what it’s worth, for New Dreams and Seasoned Friendships, for filial piety and sisterly promises, for obligations and optimism, for better or worse – I’m coming home.
And the awesome bit? The adventure continues lah!
