They say that you can’t go home again. My first couple of weekends that I went home from college I fully agreed with that. So much had changed since I left and I could hardly bare it. All of the familiar sights and sounds broke my heart. They were reminders of all that I had lost. Everything that was familiar just reminded me of all that would never be the same again. It didn’t feel like home. When I pulled into the driveway for the first time I felt relief that my house looked exactly the same. But when I walked through the front door I knew that something was missing. I walked into my home and realized that I was alone. I waited for a few moments to be greeted at the door by my long time feline companion but he never came. Without him the energy wasn’t at all the same. The first time I walked into my room I felt as if I was floating. Something didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like it was my room. The vibe was completely different. Home was nothing like home sweet home.
My next couple of visits were just like the first, unwelcoming and disturbing. Finally a few months had passed and I went home once more. As I pulled off of the highway and drove down all of the familiar streets, a started to feel excited. Was I home at last? My wounds had healed just enough for me to appreciate everything that was once so familiar to me. I was finally able to enjoy mine and my mothers favourite Sunday morning spot. I was able to enjoy the familiar walk up the street to Starbucks with my father, where we used to spend every morning drinking our coffees and eating our yogurt parfaits in the window. And at last I was able to appreciate my own bed. Peacefully I laid there, not longing for lost love, except for my cat of course. I now disagree with the statement that you can never go home again. Although it is extremely difficult going from no discipline to almost constant nagging from your parents, but I feel that no matter what happens your home will always be your home and that once the dust settles, you can always go back.
