Home, wherever that may be. Thinking of that word does not make me imagine a chimney, neighbours waving and a bedroom full of nostalgia hanging on the wall. Home is the backpack hanging on my shoulder and the holy trinity I see before me when I close my eyes.
It feels good to be back in my home country, though. To be with family, to joke around with friends, to turn into an ice cube every time I step outside. Alright, I could do without the latter.
Ah yes, I am definitely noticing a few slight differences between my life here and my life on the other side of the pond. Quitting cold turkey makes those differences fairly flagrant.
My slicked back hair has become a wool beanie, my T-shirt has become a winter coat. The temperature has dropped a mere thirty degrees Celsius.
I am baffled every time I go outside. It is as if I enter a world that I had somewhat forgotten existed.
When I walk into the nearby forest I am surrounded by fields of green. I see creeks and a horizontal line in the distance - my old friend, Horizon. There is no mountain nor waterfall nor building to separate us any longer.
From the trees I hear birds chirping, replacing the everlasting reggaeton. I look for short skirts and long black hair desperately grinding against any available object. But the trees are empty.
In the streets I see garbage men doing their job without the sound of a cowbell warning me that they are near. A woman pushing a cart full of fruits shouting out all she has on sale is nowhere to be found.
Buying groceries only takes me five minutes. There is no extensive queue nor a cashier working at a pace as if he’s/she’s trying to go back in time.
Across the street I see a man looking at me and he waves. Why isn’t he asking if I want my canvas shoes shined? Where is the bag of lollipops? The stand with delicious street food? Kids looking at me as if I’m an extra terrestrial?
“Why isn’t anyone trying to sell me cocaine?” I scream.
“Where am I?” I mumble and look at my reflection in a window. “Who am I?”
In an attempt to calm down I take a seat inside a restaurant. The other guests are enjoying their conversation whilst being considerate to other people sitting inside. I ask the waiter where he hid the eighty tv-screens and the colossal speakers.
“How am I supposed to eat a meal in peace without the most random videoclips and music crippling my eardrums?”
A worried look and the request to leave.
I honour that request and go to bed. ‘Where Is My Mind’ starts playing in the background. I wonder if I am even real anymore.
I close my eyes. Falling asleep I see my holy trinity.
In the morning I go downstairs. Three faces are smiling at me. My eyes are wide open. I see my holy trinity and embrace them. I have come home.
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