I Went Home After 4 Years and Refuse to Shut Up About It
Allow me to ease you into why I'm always rambling on twitter that I miss home. It's because I do miss home, my real home
Anyone who watched me closely or virtually can tell that I was easily my best self in December of 2023. I would liken it to that upsetting itch that comes on very random days, the one so hard to reach. That was what it felt like being back home after four solid years. I was relieved. The nostalgia, joy unforced, pure smiles, love at its core. I would do anything to have that, even for a day.
The text I got from my cousin - while I was going about my almost daily traditional posts filled with masquerades and a sprinkle of me fangirling my family - made me laugh the hardest. “Calabar has been looking fun, it’s like you live on a different side” he said. It was true, I was living on a different side. A side I so deeply curated for myself, a side my family intentionally made for one another. That was why I had the time of my life. I did everything I wanted to do and I did it well.
My favorite display
I’ve always been culturally inclined. Not that it was mandatory, but it was something that I grew to love. And being away from it that long was the saddest thing yet. I made the conscious decision (and action) to be soaked in it as if it were my last. I can promise that you can’t imagine how much I miss it - the runarounds for no particular reason other than bringing the littlest thing such as a wine opener for my aunt that I hadn’t seen in forever. Or is it the childhood friends I had to cater for so willingly? I’ll be honest, the main part was feeling like the main character, especially while hosting.
I missing laughing. I laughed every single day, ugly ones at that. Calabar saw the vulnerable and pure twist to me, the one that only a few get to see. It’s the type you see when I’m with my girlfriends. It’s the type my soulmate got to see. I had missed her the most. The inability to be with her due to distance hurt and still hurts. At my lowest, while being so far from her, I would imagine what it’s like to do the simple act of resting on her shoulder and staring into thin air. And that alone made me sob like a big baby. Ironically, I did none of that when I saw her. All we did was reiterate how much we had missed each other.
Me and my soulmate
Intimacy would best word to describe the entire 14 days I spent in Calabar. Intimacy I shared with my family. Intimacy I shared with my childhood best friend who I spent my mornings and nights gossiping with immediately we woke up and before we went to bed. Intimacy I shared with friends I hadn’t seen in over four years. And the best overall, the intimacy with my soulmate and best friend in one. I was happy all through (intoxicated too but that’s besides the point).
I went to the church I grew up in, and not the usual waking-up-to-get-set-for children’s church kind, but what I would a describe as a home where I was nurtured and pampered. I’ve been rightfully awarded the first baby of the church. That home remains the reason I view the church the way I do, the reason I haven’t quite settled in any place of worship even after moving four years ago. Everything that pertains to my social and religious life has always been close-knit and raw. It’s why love is a concept that I can’t quite get my hands on, but one that I’m so open to because it’s a feeling that transcends human understanding. It’s one filled with intensity that can never be described. It’s one feeling that can only been understood when provided. It was how I grew up, seeing love and simultaneously feeling it. It filled me as I watched, such that I adopted it. Truly, it’s the only thing that keeps me sane. I struggle to find words for you. I struggle so bad that it hurts me because I want you to see it. I want to see it again, and feel it even more.
And that’s my very own dramatic way of saying I miss home.