As a fresher, this was an experience that will remain a strong memory. It was full of realisation and happiness and I can only hope that others can talk of the same relationship with home.
This is a short anecdote but nevertheless a personal insight into my thoughts.
After four weeks of non-stop working and socialising and discovering, I returned to a strangely familiar place I called home. The word 'home' had seeped its way into my vocabulary over the past few weeks in reference to a different place - my new flat in halls.
Upon returning, the first thing I did was try to start my dented, old, rusted, blue car. Clearly my want of adventure never ceased because here I was. I was trying to drive a car that refused to start, abandoned for a month with a grudge against me for leaving it to rust a little more. I think it missed me and I missed it too.
So, I sped down country roads blaring The Smiths as loud as I possibly could with my dad in the passenger seat duetting with Morrisey to 'This Charming Man' like the best friend I never had. The occasion became a memory. It was another memory I could keep of the life I lead back home.
Soon enough I was indulging in the luxuries of non-student life - the food that wasn't own brand, A hot bath and a flat screen TV. I ran around like I was five years old at Disneyland, on a mad frenzy, taking it all in as much as possible. I ran to my cats with hugs and strokes, ignoring their avid attempts to escape my grasp of long lost affection. I ran upstairs to fall daringly backwards on to my parents' double bed, feeling the rush of the air past my ears before landing upon blankets dominated with the smell of washing powder and dust from an old house. I ran to every window to see a different view, faintly remembering all the different ways they looked in each season.
Some attractions in this house were big but the attractions that were small were somehow more fulfilling.
I boiled the kettle just to hear the satisfying click.
But, later on in the evening I was caught by emotion. I was sitting on the sofa in front of 'Have I Got News For You' in my pyjamas with a cup of hot tea, facing our warm, open fireplace. I took in my surroundings again, calmer this time, observant. To my left was the wooden statue of a giraffe my parents had brought back from Africa, to my right a mask from India. Behind me was a grandiose mirror, an antique passed down through my family and the fireplace was ornate and slightly out of place. My old house bore strange looking beams on every wall and ceiling. Upstairs my dad was tucking my little brother into bed. The familiarity stunned me, I never realised how much I'd missed the simple things. All my family were home at once this weekend and this being such a rare occasion, it felt like Christmas. It was a wonderful quality of life.
Strange, how enlightening it was to realise the real differences between university life and home. After talking to a few different people, I realise that they have had different experiences of coming home. Some people left it longer before returning and so their feelings may be stronger. On the other hand, some people have returned home almost every other weekend so the feeling won't be as strong. Others have found the return more relaxing rather than emotional. However, the first homecoming is significant and certainly a great relief to anyone feeling homesick.
To anyone reading this who might be homesick, home would not be home if you do not miss it. Feeling this way means appreciating what you really have. Hang on in there. It takes surprisingly little time for something wonderful to happen that will distract you from missing home so much and maybe it will make life a little more bearable for now. Hold on to this sentiment and know that you are not alone.
