Torn between studying and learning alone in this cloud city, this is how I have been ever since I moved to London, the crossroads city that has a taste of every place in the world.
Upon arrival, or even before that. Probably in the stage of thinking of leaving home. Moving out to a different world where they’ll be looked at and treated as aliens wondering who is exactly the alien in a city established on the bodies of the indigenous ever since the white man arrived here thinking of expanding his settlement elsewhere on earth.
Grass is always greener on the other side of the road. We all, at one time, thought that leaving home and wandering the world looking for who we are and what can we do best, looking for a place where we would fit probably neglecting or blind folding the bitter truth: ain’t nothing like home.
This is me in London, experiencing life in this cold, dark city. Going through thick and thicker ever since my arrival struggling to make a place for myself in a society of strangers hoping to fit somewhere here or there somehow.
I don’t know where should I begin from, or where to end narrating this story, my story, or a man who loved his home too much to the point he couldn’t see a dim light of hope of prospering, who got fed up with all his surroundings, good or bad, craving for a change dying to kill the routine he has been living for longer than he could remember.
Should I begin from the day I was named a top class student graduating with distinction, cheered and applauded for by thousands of attendees, friends and family included? Or from how I lost my job a few days after that because my employer realized that I am of no use since I graduated hoping for salary raise but instead getting laid off?
Maybe I should begin from when I decided to leave home because life has become too unbearable for me to live this way thinking I wasn’t made for it, tagging myself as an alien just like the rest of the people here, and everywhere else that’s not home.
The beginning of my story is just like the end. Unknown, undecided, colorless just like so many things around me, you and everyone else. The context, lying between what would seem to be a thick beginning and a thick tragic end.
One, at home, would think life abroad is much better. Sorry to burst your bubble but it’s not!
I miss home. I miss everything about it. Even the bad things.
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