I wanted a way out. A way to make a change. I gathered the small number of clothes that I owned and folded them into my duffle bag along with a select few personal items: my grandmother’s mauve lipstick which is nearly dried up, a portrait of my family, and my favorite perfume that smells of grapefruit. A loud honk from a taxi awaiting outside was heard. As I ran quickly to meet it I tried my best to avoid the raindrops that fell from the sky.
Silently I nestled into the back seat and waited for the hour ride to the airport to pass. As I exited the cab and waiting for the feeling to hit me. The feeling of change. I was going home.
But how can you tell anyone that? That the city full of opportunities, the place where dreams come true isn’t meant for me? That all I want is happiness and for some bizarre reason I can’t find it here. There’s an emptiness in my chest that I can’t fill and it didn’t develop until I came to this land of empty promises.
At home I was a nobody while here I can be somebody but I find that I don’t want to. I’ve always dreamed of making a difference, being known yet I find I was perfectly happy being invisible. I cared for my nanny kids, worked hard to make people happy in retail, and had time to write things I was proud of.
Yes, I felt stuck in a rut but maybe that’s okay? No, I couldn’t afford to move out of my parent’s over crowded home. With 2 sisters, parents, and 4 cats but I was happy more often than I am here.
Not to say this journey has been a waste. I learned who I am and what I want to be. Will I still be a writer one day? Yes. 100%. But maybe not in the style I thought originally. Journalism and ministry that’s what I want. I just wish it hadn’t taken $30,000 to realize it.
But the past is the past and you can’t change it. Only learn from it and move on. And that’s what I’m doing. As the taxi pulled up to the airport I leaped out nearly forgetting to pay the driver. I was just excited to make a change. Excited to go home.