Back turned. Eyes wide. Udon, my dog. 

I’ve spent the last few days brainrotting more than I should, perhaps to numb the brain from thinking too much about my departure. 

Away from home since 13, I should be good at this. I’m trapped in endless inconvenient cycles of goodbyes.

Pack the bag. Hug the people. Mean it. Leave anyway.

Don’t be so vain. Everyone lives like this eventually.

But this time feels different. Maybe it’s because educations comforters are finally stripped? I’m rolling into this double-edged sword of the reality of my dreams where I can finally discover whether I actually want to live inside them. 

Is this a life for me?

I have enough ego to ask the question and, thankfully, just enough self-awareness to know I don’t have the answer.

Nor do I possess a philosophical cure for missing’s bitterness. There will be no medicine here… Missing someone is life’s tax for having found people worth staying for.

I’ve spent enough time with my South African cats to have developed the dangerous confidence of a place’s general idea. This time I’ll stay longer. Travel further. See more.

But I have the sneaky feeling I’ll come out knowing less.

How lucky am I to be able to miss.

Facing forward. Eyes wide. I’m back in the homeland.