Homesickness – then and now

Today, for the first time since we came back from Malaysia, I am feeling homesick. It started this morning, when I watched, via a link on Facebook, a video that had obviously been recorded somewhere tropical. There was that unmistakable hum of cicadas and other insects, accompanied by chirrups and whoops from tropical birds, constantly in the background.

I felt a pang, a longing to be back in my other home. It felt at the same time so close but very far away. I felt the sadness, the impossibility of wanting to be in two far-apart places, but it was ok. It’s a fact of my life that I have another home, and it’s also a fact that I can’t go there very often. I can face up to that and I can accept it.

This is so different from my earlier experiences with homesickness. When I first came back to the UK at 15 to go to boarding school, I missed everything. The weather, the food, my family, my home, my bedroom, my old school, my boyfriend. It was excruciating and I told my room-mates how badly I was suffering. That turned out to be an unwise policy. I had grown up surrounded by teenagers from so many different countries and cultures that bullying, even teasing, just didn’t happen. It couldn’t. But a group of British teenagers, finding in their midst a rather immature girl who was supposed to be the same as they were but also quite obviously wasn’t, automatically took the mickey. They weren’t necessarily being cruel; they just didn’t realise that they were hurting me. I lasted a year, and having threatened repeatedly to run away, was brought home again to finish my ‘A’ levels by correspondence.

A couple of years later, I returned again, this time to go to university. I had decided to spend a few months living in London, getting to know the UK, its culture and society, and practising being British. By the time I arrived in Cambridge, I knew roughly what people wore, what music they listened to and how they talked. I fitted in. This time I didn’t talk about Malaysia. I spoke and acted as if I had always lived in the UK and only my closest friends knew I had ever lived anywhere else. I didn’t let on that I missed Asia, even to myself. This was the beginning of a habit that lasted several decades. The more I didn’t talk or think about my far away home, the further down the feelings of homesickness were buried. It was only when someone – even someone in my family – mentioned Malaysia or when there was a TV programme or advert that the painful feelings arose. And then – oh my – they were extremely painful. I had to bury them again quickly.

So you see why I am delighted at my balanced and manageable feeling of homesickness today. It’s just a feeling; it won’t hurt me. It will fade and then, every so often, it will come back. And I will know I can live with it. I would much rather be me, with my history, my two homes and my multi-cultural upbringing, even if it means a little sadness sometimes, than anyone else.

If you’ve read some of my previous posts, do you remember the ‘doing over’ one? Well, today’s experience suggests to me that my retracing has really worked. Sometimes we really do get a second chance. Has something like this ever happened to you? Would you like it to? Please share if you can!