On Going Back Home

There was a time where I promised myself that I would never return here, no matter what. I was the black sheep here. Too many bad memories. Nothing and no one I can think back on fondly. It’s boring. I lost touch with 99% of the people here. But after the storm and the subsequent flooding, I really had no choice.

Well, I absolutely had a choice. I had gotten touch with my family during the worst of the storm, and they weren’t in any mortal danger. I could’ve just used that as an excuse to not give much outside of prayers and well wishes to them. But I kept prying for something, any excuse for my presence to be necessary. I found the excuse the moment the words “you know we’re too old to take care of the yard in the aftermath” were uttered. Now I’m sitting in an empty passenger terminal, waiting to take an unpleasant four hour flight (flying on any military plane outside of a C-5 is unpleasant) from Honduras to Charleston, SC which will lead to a two hour drive to Sumter, the place where most of my skeletons and human flaws and insecurities were born.

But why? I don’t really know. Maybe it’s the quest for closure that I alluded to in my last post. After I actually had the chance to say goodbye to people I cared about for the first time, maybe I’m chasing that oppurtnunity again. Closure is a very foreign, but welcome feeling.

The impending move to Germany certainly feels like the end of a chapter in my life, and although it doesn’t mean that I’ll stop speaking to the friends and family I already have, there’s no use in pretending that life, for me or them, will be remotely the same when I return to the States in 2019.


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