LESSONS ON THE GEOGRAPHY OF HOME
*This is an entry for the July Blog of the Month Competition
Growing up, home was constant. It had one name, and it never changed.
As I went through the cumbersome task of growing up and learning that friendships didn't last forever, home became a little less constant. I learned to associate certain things with home, like the beaches and the corniche, barbeques with the salty air a blissful certainty. Tall buildings and that specific brown school uniform, and regular visits to the cultural center in the neighborhood.
When circumstances lead to Baba's transfer to another city, home became a yearning, a reluctant shifting of address, a process of dethroning and rebellion, but with the passage of time, home became more than it ever was before. It became the red sand dunes, constantly shifting, yet somehow always the same. It moved to the freshness of green mubazzarah and the slightly chilly air at the top of jebel hafeet. The tall buildings morphed into small ones, the bigger, buzzing city into a quiet, residential one.
Yet, home still encompassed them both. And then it came to painful goodbyes, no longer just moving cities but moving countries. It became more than just a change of address, it became a change of customs, of culture. It became shock, which manifested into intense dislike and a heart wrenching need for everything I'd ever defined as home.
And like every instance before, time interfered and left it's mark. The longing for the old never disappeared, but in time, it was replaced by the glee that came with every monsoon rain, the wonder that accompanied the cold every winter, it became new experiences and falling in love with another place that became a part of home.
However, it seems wanderlust had a way of forcing itself upon me. With university came another geographical location, this time it meant a change of faces as well. At first, leaving behind family meant opening the gateways to freedom, an independence that beckoned and screamed glory.
Before the first month away from home had passed, it had become an entirely different feeling, one of melancholy and a longing so strong, it resembled physical pain.
It didn't take long for the realization to set in then, home wasn't just a manifest of all the coordinates you had previously resided in, home was the people whose hearts yours constantly beat in sync with.
- Izza Afzal (Class of 2018)
Growing up, home was constant. It had one name, and it never changed.
As I went through the cumbersome task of growing up and learning that friendships didn't last forever, home became a little less constant. I learned to associate certain things with home, like the beaches and the corniche, barbeques with the salty air a blissful certainty. Tall buildings and that specific brown school uniform, and regular visits to the cultural center in the neighborhood.
When circumstances lead to Baba's transfer to another city, home became a yearning, a reluctant shifting of address, a process of dethroning and rebellion, but with the passage of time, home became more than it ever was before. It became the red sand dunes, constantly shifting, yet somehow always the same. It moved to the freshness of green mubazzarah and the slightly chilly air at the top of jebel hafeet. The tall buildings morphed into small ones, the bigger, buzzing city into a quiet, residential one.
Yet, home still encompassed them both. And then it came to painful goodbyes, no longer just moving cities but moving countries. It became more than just a change of address, it became a change of customs, of culture. It became shock, which manifested into intense dislike and a heart wrenching need for everything I'd ever defined as home.
And like every instance before, time interfered and left it's mark. The longing for the old never disappeared, but in time, it was replaced by the glee that came with every monsoon rain, the wonder that accompanied the cold every winter, it became new experiences and falling in love with another place that became a part of home.
However, it seems wanderlust had a way of forcing itself upon me. With university came another geographical location, this time it meant a change of faces as well. At first, leaving behind family meant opening the gateways to freedom, an independence that beckoned and screamed glory.
Before the first month away from home had passed, it had become an entirely different feeling, one of melancholy and a longing so strong, it resembled physical pain.
It didn't take long for the realization to set in then, home wasn't just a manifest of all the coordinates you had previously resided in, home was the people whose hearts yours constantly beat in sync with.
- Izza Afzal (Class of 2018)
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