'Home'

“Right, come on then. We’d best get going- wouldn’t want to be late, would we?” my mum announced, laughing. The gate was only round the corner, I thought. Why did we have to leave so soon?

As we do every year, my family and I had flown over to our home in England from our home in Hong Kong to visit our family for Christmas. And as we do every year, we’d been avoiding the last goodbyes, leaving them until the very last second. We had all been through the ‘goodbye routine’; we knew it off by heart. We’d talk, have a laugh (if you didn’t, you’d cry), reminisce on all the memories of the month, laugh some more, and then, it ended. We all knew what the ending was going to be. What it had to be. Just the thought of it made my stomach turn. And yet, how lucky I was to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.

As an attempt to deflect the inevitable, I looked around at the swarms of tourists. How was that lady in the green blouse smiling? Why did she get to be happy? Why did that old man walk past us without any expression on his face? Did he not have a care in the world? Families from all over the globe blurred my vision, their smiles slow dancing in front of my eyes, their conversations appearing deafening as they smothered my numb ears. I stepped back.

And again.

I was overwhelmed by the size, the trapped noise, the throbbing life of the place. And yet, they all looked so… calm.

Guilt, fear, anger, grief- a cocktail of emotions was turning and churning around in my mind, growing louder and more intrusive in the screaming silence of the atmosphere, until I finally snapped. I was filled with a feeling that was black and cold and red and burning. The fire inside me raged; I wanted to shout to let them all know that they couldn’t be happy. They didn’t deserve to be happy because didn’t they know that I was leaving my family? Didn’t they know that I wasn’t going on a 10-day holiday to sunny Ibiza, but instead I wouldn’t be back for 11 months? My shoulders sagged. Suddenly feeling very alone, heat crawling through my face, I wiped my sweaty palms on my trousers.

“Niamh! Earth to Niamh!” someone boomed, snapping me out of my trance, the sound echoing down by body.

I spun, attempting a smile, until tears threatened to spill. Concentrating on where the voice was coming from, and as cold air filled my lungs, I spotted my mum.

“Right, come on then. We’d best get going- wouldn’t want to be late, would we?” she announced, laughing.

Those words took the last of my hope that dared to linger and crushed it in between their fingers.

Everyone’s agreements were drowned out by the strong, determined beats of my heart. I took a breath.

In, out.

I smiled.

In, out. Hugged my grandma.

God, I'm going to miss Grandma.

Each second of this stolen time sent needles scattering angrily through the weak prison of my heart.

In, out, in out. Pulled away.

Silence and sound held me tight.

Too tight.

In, out.

Swaying on my unsteady feet, my vision tunnelling, every colour merging into a huge blur, I diverted my eyes to the roof, willing the tears to stay away for 5 more minutes. My heart ached; I couldn’t do this.

One word shattered my composure: “Hello.” However, it was not said by my parents, grandma, or even my baby cousin. It was cried in others’ conversations, with so much emotion that was so opposite to mine it was almost unrecognisable.

But the pain wasn’t just in words. It was everywhere. In smiles. In footsteps. In the uncomfortable bend of my neck as it failed to hold my head up high. In every beat of my overused heart. In the pit of my stomach and the deep of my soul.

I blinked. No! Water flowed from my tired, sore eyes. Another blink. More, and more tears and energy cascaded out.

Will it ever end?

I hid my face to conceal the rising sobs which were piercing my throat. A gentle, guiding hand urged me to move my resisting legs. It took strength to leave but I didn’t feel strong.

My stomach, now an empty pit of grief, twisted and turned as the gate loomed closer. With every step, every breath and every blink that I took, an overflow of emotions poured down my cheeks.

This was it.

I felt a cold shiver wander the wrong way past my chest, filling the hollows of my legs.

I rested my head on my mum’s shoulder as she handed over our tickets at the boarding gate. Reluctantly, I dragged my iron-heavy limbs through the walkway onto the plane. Scanning the crowded rows, I searched for my seat. There it was. 24A. I sat down. I shuffled. Squirmed. I was comfortable but… I shuffled again. The digital time caught my eye as it changed to 17:31.

17:32…

17:33…

17:37...

A lone tear crawled down my face.

17:44…

“This is your Captain speaking. Cabin Crew, please prepare for take-off.”

There was no turning back now.

I looked outside to the dusky sky, the runway dimly lit with ghostly lights running along it, confidently guiding hundreds of eager planes which were ready to reach their destination. Was I ready? My vision made its way to Terminal 3. Another tear, accompanied by a wave of nausea and an explosion of panic, dared to trickle down the same path many that day had taken already. Unable to pull my eyes away, I listened to the soft rumble of the jets as the aircraft picked up speed, the airport becoming smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until…

In, out.

Then… a new feeling. Not panic. It was less bright than that, heavier, sadder, slow-moving, but it hurt so much more.

A steady acceptance hung over me. As the tears subsided, I rested my head, shut my eyes, and finally, I said them.

I said my last goodbyes.

“Welcome to Hong Kong, ladies and gentlemen. The current local time is 10:17pm,” our Captain reported.

Opening my drowsy eyes, I was greeted by my yawning dad.

“Did you not get much sleep, Dad?”

“No, I had someone’s particularly bony shoulder prodding me for the past 12 hours!” he chuckled, peering over me to see only darkness out the window, except for the same, ghostly lights on the runway, which, in some way, was a reassuring reminder that it wasn’t so different being here after all.

We took a detour on the car journey back to go pick up our two pet cats. As soon as we walked through the front door of our apartment, we let the cats out of their carrier, and they immediately ran to their food bowls. Laughing, we put our luggage down and my family went over to them to give them cuddles. I closed the door behind me and stood there, watching my family giggle with the purring cats, then turned to look at our living room (which we had tidied before we left, even though no one was coming in), and the picture frames with snapshots of our time together.

This was not just our house.

This was our home- a place full of love, warmth, and cat fur stuck to the sofas and all of our black clothing.

I smiled as I walked over to my cats to give them all my kisses and tell them how much I’ve missed them.

It’s a strange feeling, having two homes. A strange feeling that I know I am so lucky and so grateful to have.