Obligatory Nomad

Most people will believe that the opportunity of living someplace different every four months is nothing short of an adventure, others will disagree. I disagree. Being uprooted every four months, every time I’m starting to get comfortable again, has detached me physically, mentally and emotionally from everything I know to be familiar. I hardly recognise myself sometimes.

Don’t think, even for a second, that I don’t realise the opportunity I have been given. Even with all that I have to deal with, I know the life I live is one that isn’t easy to come by. It is rare and it is blessed. Forgive me if you feel I am undeserving of it, I wouldn’t argue that I am not.

But it’s the end of my first work term. I’ve lived alone in the core of downtown Toronto for the past three months and I can’t honestly say that I’ve made the most of it. I can’t even say that I’ve tried. It’s as though I don’t know how to multi-task my life right now, I haven’t quite mastered that skill. On the one hand, I’m living on my own in a new country, a new city, no friends within a sociable distance and starting work at the first job I’ve ever had. On the other hand, I’m holding on to my family and my friends and myself as I know myself to be. And between all of this, I’m trying to do all the things I’ve ever wanted to do, become the person I’m supposed to be and take a hold of the opportunity thrust upon me as any youth of 18 is expected to.

So, I crumbled. Under all of this, I could barely function. I took on so many things at once and managed to accomplish nothing but my own destruction.

But thank goodness for friends.

Here’s a little known, less shared, fact: after losing yourself and falling apart, when you pick yourself up and put yourself back together, you’re allowed to leave out all bits you don’t want back. If I ever want those pieces back, I’ll know where to find them. At least, right now, I know where I am and what the next step is. What comes after isn’t set in stone and worrying about it now doesn’t help.

That’s what’s so great about the future: you can always change it.

I’ll be moving back into residence in the beginning of May. That should be some kind of comfort–a twisted comfort in that I’ll know what to expect from myself and the mistakes I’ll have to stop myself from making again. But it’s still no place that I can call home. Home is far away and ever-changing and all I can do is hope that I can always call it that, no matter how different things are when we meet again.

It is my home. And it will be again one day.

Every four months will be different. This is both a gift and a curse. But I hope I’ll learn how to make myself happy, despite circumstances, however disagreeable or fortunate they may seem.

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