I always thought that moving back home would be like in the novels I read growing up

I thought there’d be a party with all my friends and family present to say Welcome and We missed you

I thought we’d laugh and make jokes about the great times we shared before I left and perhaps hint on the future we might share

I thought my family might even male me drink a glass of champagne or two because I should live a little

I thought you’d be by my side, sharing jokes about how hard it was to keep the whole affair a secret from me

I thought you’d say that the reason why you went radio silent before I arrived was all part of the big surprise

I thought we’d dance through the night, finally together after all those cold nights of being apart

I thought we’d be so overwhelmed with happiness that all the fights that led up to that moment wouldn’t be relevant any more

I thought wrong

Moving home isn’t a scene from a movie where there’s a welcome home banner and smiles

Moving home is being picked up late from the airport and not knowing what to eat when I finally got home

It is everyone forgetting to say Welcome, but remembering to ask What did you get for me?

It is me not seeing you the night I got back nor the next day nor even thr day after that for a whole week

It is starting a job and realizing that I should have rested before relocating because you don’t get any break from home or family

It is coming to terms with the fact that all my hunches were right, and you truly do not care about me

It is about coming to terms with my new life and realizing that each day is a test of my pain threshold

Moving home is a jarring experience, and perhaps one day I’ll wake up and deal with it but not today

Today, I have to focus on getting through the day, and steering away from thoughts of you

It’s good to be home… At long last

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