I didn't run away to go back home the same.

Yes, I ran away. I applied for that Master’s. I moved country. I took the first job they offered me. I moved to yet another country. I left everything I knew — twice. At the time, I thought that I made the right decision. Home only meant one thing: the truth of my reality. I ran away from the implications of a failed five year relationship, a dysfunctional family dynamic, and the reality that as an only child the responsibility of my family’s aging falls onto my shoulders. 

Funny, this, how my life is just a loop of the same constants: I’m on a bus to Bergamo Airport. Soon, I’ll board a plane to a country that never felt like home. And, a year ago, my premonition whispered it to me — that it would never be home. Yet, now, this bittersweet feeling overcomes me: this is probably the last time I’ll catch a plane to that country. 

My roommate told me that I don’t seem to be happy about this move. I’m returning home with a high-stress and high-pay position. I’m returning home to face my reality as it is. I’m returning home. But, I’m also leaving a lot behind. A part of me feels like a failure. Another part of me feels relieved. There is a certain freedom in this so-called failure of mine. My heart is weary. My mind is inflamed with anxieties. My body is tired. Someone once told me I live an interesting life. It seems that way; but I’ve spent these last three years running. Heartbreak? No problem — book a flight. Career regression? No problem — book a bus. Loneliness? No problem — book a train. 

I’m tired. We islanders are resilient. Although, no one seems to want to acknowledge us as their equals.  Nowadays, I know that I personally have nothing to prove to those who dismiss me because of the micro-state I come from. My life as an expat? It’s hard — assimilating is all the more difficult when your culture is so rare. Influenced by everyone, yet — we’re similar to none of them. I did not have my own community to lean on — or a common language to speak in person when I felt insignificant. I’ve never known loneliness like I knew it in that country. I’m surrounded by people. Yet, they all feel so temporary. In my heart of hearts, I know that these people will forget me — out of sight, out of mind.

I’m tired of keeping my mouth shut; of submitting. Of them trying to make me submit. I’m tired of having my country raked through the coals. “Who cares?” is a phrase I’ve heard often when I share something about my country. I’m tired of being left out of conversations because I don’t speak their language — “Oh, only English?” I’m tired of being met by an eye-roll. And a cold shoulder. I’m tired of wearing corporate wear and pretending to be part of that soul-less and artificial country. I’m tired of being called exotic — not being seen as a person but rather, a conquest. I’m so incredibly tired of pretending to be somebody I’m not. Would I have wasted a year and a half in that country? 

The worst part? I feel as though I am unresolved. Of course, I am not the same person who left three years ago. I feel as though my return will ripen the grapevine with fresh gossip. The rumours will start. And I have an inkling as to what they’ll say: “she couldn’t hack it abroad, it seems”.  Will home accept me as I am? Will home regress me to how I was before? Who I am hated who I was there. 

What I fear the most is, of course, coming across him again — the one who started all of this. I realise, now, that a surgery to remove the physical scar he left on my body was not enough. I’m not sure how my body will react when we cross paths. I don’t wish for him to set eyes on me; I don’t wish for him to think of me. He doesn’t deserve it. And, I don’t deserve to be prejudiced by his vindictive gaze. 

Last year, my friends told me that I was meant for bigger things than home. That me moving away was a natural result of me being bright. I left a little pond to compete with fish in a bigger sea. Everyone believed I could handle it. Everyone was wrong about me. Everyone's high hopes for me, unfortunately, were the very ingredients that are contributing to this sinking feeling: did I let everyone down? 

I’m going home soon. And, it’s natural to have mixed feelings, right?