It's been seven years that I have been away from this place. Seven years since I have been running. From whom, you ask? I do not know. May be, from myself. I still remember the day when I had boarded the flight to Norway. It had been one of the most awaited moments of my life. A moment when I had felt absolutely free.
I was finally able to escape. I, finally, felt alive but... why are the years that I spent there, a blur then? Weren't they supposed to be the best years of my life? A new me. With a new found confidence. With new associates and a house where I was all alone and I didn't have to be afraid of someone leaving me behind. Because I was alone, after all, right?
Here, I stand once again in this very airport from where I had started running. Why did I return, you ask? Well, I do know the answer this time. All my life, I have been trying to escape from it all. From my family, from the house that remained as stagnant as everything else in life, from the city, from my friends, from the very country. But I never realised that all along, I have left parts of me here that made me hollow with every passing moment there. I may have felt alive in that one moment when I had started my journey, seven years ago but I was almost dead for the moments, thereafter.
I have always lived here. In the dust particles. In the stones and gravels of the road. In the wind that somehow, always, soothed the disturbed soul. In the petrichor. In the sound of "dhaak" during Pujo. In the abandoned swings. In the old alleys and lanes that the new generation have no idea about. In the evenings filled with laughter and chatter with a plate of "muri" and "chop bhaja". In the mandatory "rabindrasangeet" rendition almost every night.
I realise how in my quest of finding my ultimate home, I have somewhere lost the little home that I had created here for over eighteen years of my life. Today, standing at the threshold of our abandoned house, may be, just may be, I am finally home. -- @ephemeral_happiness
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