Coming home after two years was important to me. I have of course, seen my folks in the last two years, I just haven’t been to the place I call, home.
Home is wide winding roads, the smell of frankincense, the taste of shwarma and zatar and the comfort of my old room covered in embarrassing photographs of my siblings and I. It’s a reminder of simpler times when life was uncomplicated and bruised knees were our biggest problems.
My first few days were an absolute pleasure. I spent my days driving down to the beach, shopping, eating more than I needed and lazing around. My parents have recently taken to fruit carving. To those of you who know me well, I’d like inform you that my overcompetitiveness was clearly inherited. Half an hour of fruit carving with my folks will answer all your questions. 😉
Only towards the end of my short trip did the reality of home hit me. The people I loved the most in this world were trying constantly to make this place called home, magical, and I visited them maybe once or twice a year. They’re struggles may not be visible but the pain of keeping up with technology changing faster than they can adapt and accepting our choice to live away from home, takes a toll on them.
Our generation has selfishly chosen career and wanderlust over family. Children then in that sense grow into ungrateful adults. Not consciously but because this is a social norm today. I wonder if these thoughts are just my own…..