I don't wanna go home

I’m often posed the question of how frequently I “go back home.” I don’t go often. People ask if I miss it, if it’s hard for me, if I feel homesick, if I wish I could go home. I feel like a bad person when I say I don’t. Should I?

At first, when I moved to Depok from Jakarta, I was homesick all of the time (well, my new “home” is not really that far from my “real” home).  I knew home, and home was comforting. The new city was scary and new and as a newly eighteen year old kid, I’d never had to budget my money or cook for myself, and now I was suddenly an adult. It seemed childish to curl up and cry for daddy, since I had suddenly been presented with all of the freedom in the world, but that was just what I wanted to do.

Every so often, a friend will mention to me that they’re headed back home, because that is what people do when they’ve got breaks from school or simply didn’t move far enough away to validate long absences. But didn’t you just go home last weekend, I’ll wonder. Maybe their priorities are different than mine are. Maybe they never wanted to fly far from the nest. Maybe I’m emotionally stunted somehow. Maybe I should want to go home. Maybe I ought to go home. Sometimes, my overactive imagination gets the better of me and I think, maybe they’ll die and I’ll never have gotten the chance to say good bye. Maybe I should make more of an effort to see them. Maybe I should care more about whether or not I see my family this week, month, or year. It doesn’t matter to me either way.

Are we supposed to always want to go home periodically? For the holidays, for a break, to catch up with our family. What if we simply don’t want to go home?

Eventually, it also becomes a difficult task to want to go back home, because what waits for you there? An escape from the life you now live? This — here — is the present. Who knows where the future might be? Who knows what an individual person’s priorities are, and who’s to say whether they’re right or wrong? It is not a sign of defeat to want to revisit home, to be a child again, to be cared for by parents and friends if you’re so lucky to still have them. Nor is it a mark of insensitivity or ungratefulness if you can’t, or don’t want to go home.

I became friends with people who had perfect little families. Some of them would go home every weekend or at least once a month. They would talk about missing their family, friends, or their own pets. I, on the other hand, almost never wanted to go home. I preferred to stay at college, living my own life. Some of my friends didn't understand this at all. Well, it’s okay. I don’t even care what they say. I'm writing this because I DON’T LOOK FORWARD TO COMING HOME ANYMORE. Because the truth is, not everyone wants to go home, whether it be because of family or because they have a new life.

Xoxo

Deb:)