I met up with my friends today, just for drinks at a local cafe, which was fairly chill and nice. One thing that did come up was my one friend has never been abroad, doesn’t even a passport. I always find that amazing. That people have never travelled, have never explored other parts of the world even if it is sitting on a beach for a week. I hate flying with a passion (try 12 hours on a plane with plane sickness aka severe nausea, dizziness and very little sleep so utter exhaustion), but I’m fairly used to it. Put it this way: I like going to new places, I just don’t like the process of getting there. Either way, I cannot imagine not having experienced being stuck on a dry aired, too cold/too hot, cramped plane for 12 hours wishing desperately for fresh air and land. I cannot imagine not having experienced travelling half way across the world in 16-24 hours, seeing the world in miniature from above and the shadows of the clouds on the earth, the rush of customs, the sinking feeling in the gut from a cancelled plane, the exhaustion and relief as you step through arrivals, the joy of experiencing a new place, the confusion of working with new currency, the intrigue of other cultures, different places. It’s not like I’m widely travelled either; I’ve actually been to more airports than actual places. But still. Travelling is good. I have spent the last month and one day abroad. And now, I have been back in the UK for a week. In some ways I’m struggling to get back into things. I feel tired and lazy. It’s somewhat odd being away for a month, doing all new and exciting and wonderful things, then coming back to the same old routine. Not bad, but strange. Probably quite good in many ways. For a holiday it wasn’t always relaxing. Not in a bad way, but it was busy and sometimes awkward and sometimes I just wanted to shut myself in my bedroom and chill by myself but I couldn’t cos I was always sharing space with somebody. But more on that some other time. I will write about the big holiday some other time, if I write about it at all. There are some memories, some thoughts, some experiences I like to keep close to my heart and not talk about here.
For now, I am back in the UK. I am 19 years old, my last year of being a teenager (as people love to say, as if I’ll magically turn into an adult when I’m 20). I am moving out of the house to go to university in September. My sister has graduated from university and is now looking for work, and I have no idea what kind of graduation present to get her. I am a little sad, a little angry, a little scared but mainly happy. The holiday was good for me. I had a mostly wonderful time being abroad, and now I am gradually slipping back into the old routine. I do in a way miss the family, and miss Cape Town, but not too badly homesick. Things are good right now. I’ve been catching up on the RSS feeds I follow, enjoying Internet shopping once more (Ebay <3), and watching the variety shows and dramas I wanted to (like material queen. omg SO GOOD. SO PRETTY. SO DIFFERENT.) I love having my cat around me again. I’m enjoying waking up late, goingg to bed late, and eating whatever I want without that horrible feeling of being judged by the relatives for my relatively poor diet. And I can eat chocolate again! And I don’t have to have 3 meals a day. Seriously, I eat like a bird. On holiday all I did was eat- from 4 course meals to tea times. Being on holiday is great but after a while it gets too much. By the last day in Harare I was desperate to get back- to my house, my cat, to the food I want when I want etc etc.
In many ways it’s good to be back. Very good to be back.