Home?

Where is home? Coming to terms with change.

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So against all odds, we made it this far. By “we” I mean, myself and the grand total of zero readers I have accumulated. And by “this far” I mean literally just a second post. Honestly, the thought of writing this only came to me during my lecture on Political Anthropology; as interesting as it was, my mind does still wander.

And even as I’m writing this, as a distraction from typing notes, I find myself needing further distractions, whether that be painting my nails a shade suitable for mermaids, or updating my icon on Twitter.

Okay, back to the point. This post is titled “Home?” which is fairly weird because I’m currently living 241.4 miles away from the place I called home, with confidence, for eighteen years. Earlier today I text my flat mate, who has been away for the weekend and is coming back to university tonight, asking what time she’d be “home.” It felt weird to call my university halls “home”; a place I’d spent just eight weeks living in. But equally if asked where I live, I’d say London not my hometown. The notion of physically belonging to a place is difficult when you’re at university.

I’m registered to a GP and to vote in my hometown, neither of which I’m permitted to do here in London. Despite me spending 99.15% of my life there (yes, I just worked it out) I’ve started calling another place “home”. Where you call home says a lot about identity and the mismatch I’m feeling about the location of home is similar to the mismatch I’m feeling about my life.

Due the nature of my degree not leading into a specific job that it would have if I studied nursing, or engingeering, or teaching, but rather leaves me with vastly open possibilities, means that I have no concrete life plan. I like having plenty¬†of choice, but also the thought of choice scares me. What if I never make a choice and just jump from dead end job to dead end job (I joke about this to my boyfriend, although it’s not even funny.) I once read an article, albeit a shitty article, on people’s opinions on different degrees. For anthropology, it was suggested that we should just manage a Hollister but I don’t think my eyes could adjust to permanent darkness.

The thought of such a huge impending choice is scary, but I’m trying to bury my head in the sand about it all. After all, I am only on week seven of classes at uni. But the confusion I feel about my future is similar to the confusion I feel about where home is. Both brings on a lot of self doubt¬†but in time it’ll ease.

Perhaps home isn’t a physical location but the people that makes an environment your place. I don’t hugely miss the four walls of the house where I grew up, but I do miss my parents. I could be here in my home at halls, or in my home where I grew up and a hug from my Mum would make everything okay. Maybe home is a person?

Until next time,

Liv

xxx

Author: theextranotes

eighteen year old student living in London. posting thoughts on anything and everything. lover of all things extra.

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