Yes, I just used a Disturbed song title as my post title. It’s not particularly relevant, but it’s the first thing that popped into my head when I started thinking about homesickness. Yes, I’m strange. Moving on…
I’ve been ridiculously homesick lately, but I’m in the unique position that I can’t talk about it to most people who would understand. I talk to Mark about it, and our friends, but I can’t tell the people who could help – my family, back home.
I posted before about leaving Facebook. While I haven’t officially left (yet), I did take a week away. I had moments where I would randomly click the icon on my browser out of habit, so I blocked it completely. Of course, I let people know I would be away first, so they could try to get in touch if they felt like it. Two people did.
But one of the main things that I was thinking of when I started considering leaving my Facebook is the fact that my family has started leaving me out of the loop. Things have happened lately – accidents, injuries, health problems, and the death of my very dear cousin – that I haven’t heard about for days and days, and sometimes even then, only because I read it on someone else’s Facebook profile. You’d think this would be a reason for me to stay on Facebook, but it just makes me frustrated. If I’m on Facebook mostly just so people in my family can get in touch with me, then what point is there to sticking around if they don’t try? At least now, when people contact me, it will be because they intentionally made the effort to do so, not just because clicking “like” on a Facebook status about my grades leaves them feeling satisfied, like they’ve reached out to me for the first time in months.
Yes, I sound bitter. I probably am! Leaving Facebook was my attempt to move on from that, and stop feeling so bitter.
The way this all connects back to homesickness is this – talking to family members about homesickness can be about as pleasant as running repeatedly into a brick wall. The only answer I really get is “well then, why don’t you come back?” It’s not a helpful answer, nor a comforting one. I spent a lot of time and effort trying to live here. I married a man I thought I’d spend my life with, and had to deal with the decision to leave by myself. I’ve made a life for myself here – I’ve had to learn to be on my own. Immigration, separation, going back to school, and fighting crippling depression – all of these things are intense, stressful, overwhelming things. If I randomly decided to give up all that I fought for and go back home now, what’s the point in everything I did?
That’s not even mentioning the fact that I love it here. I may say that I’m homesick, but this is my home. I love living near the ocean. I love living in a place where the accents are adorable (and I’ve started to adopt it for myself!) and my friends are around and I can look out my window and see the ships coming into the harbour. Yes, I’m far from the place I grew up. Yes, I miss it – every single day, with every single reminder of it. But I’m home now – why would I leave?