Wednesday, 20 April 2016

6 months, london, blogger

I'VE been meaning to write this post for a few weeks now. I thought after the 6 month update that this series should have me focus on one aspect each month instead of writing about what I've been doing. I should leave those for Twitter updates and 6 month updates. But that is not why I've delayed this post. The reason why I had to pluck up some courage to actually do it was for the fear that my family members and friends might read it and be offended. Therefore, if you are one of the above, I would like to start this off with a disclaimer. Whatever you read in this post is in no offence to you. I love Malta, I love my family and I love my friends. No one and nothing can ever replace. But this is me being honest with my feelings, sharing what I've learn after 7 months living in a foreign country. It's not been an easy road coming to the following conclusion, but I hope it will be of some sort of solace to anyone sharing my thoughts and feelings.

The title of this post echoes a question that I've been asking myself for a long time now. Well, since I moved here, to be exact. That's a little bit more than 7 months ago. I don't ever remember a time where I've ever felt anything close to 'homesickness'. Not even when I went for a weekend trip with school when I was 8. It was the first time I was spending a weekend away without any of my family members. I remember classmates crying and calling their parents. I, on the other hand, was fine. Neither did I feel homesick al the other weekends or weeks I spent away. Whenever I mention this I can see my mother feeling a little bit hurt. I don't blame her, of course, but it's never easy finding the correct words to justify my sentiments. This is not caused by a destructive household, because I couldn't have been born into a more loving and caring family. It's because I've always loved independence. I wasn't living in a jail cell, didn't have a ridiculous bed time (well, sort of) and I was cared and loved in the best way possible. I'm lucky. I wouldn't trade my crazy family for the world. My parents always raised me to be independent, and I love and respect that.

When I first broke the news to my parents that I want to move, as expected, it wasn't music to their ears. However, they didn't hold me back either. When it was actually time to go, it slowly started hitting me that it's reality in the weirdest of hours. I'd be folding clothes at work and suddenly feel sad. I was starting to realise that first and foremost, I'm leaving to start a new life in a new country away from every one and everything I know; but more importantly, I was sad to realise that I am leaving my loved ones - and in turn they are hurting. They feel pained because of me. Had I not made that decision, they would never have felt that pain. Thankfully, that soon blew over after reassurance that I'd be just a Skype call away. Let's face it, I speak to my parents more now that I live thousands of miles away than I did when I lived in the same house.

My father accompanied me for the big move and then left 3 days later. I didn't cry at the airport. My family did, but I was too engulfed in the surreality of it all to actually cry. I did feel emotional on the plane, though. When it was time for my father to leave - now that, dear reader, is a totally different story. I cried. I cried when I hugged him goodbye, and I bawled when I closed the door and walked into my sitting room. My sitting room. Inside my flat. My new flat in a new country. I cried because it hit me that I was alone. For the first time, I realised I was completely alone. The 'breakdown' barely lasted 5 minutes, and believe me when I say it never happened again. Why? I'm happy, that's why.

Not once in these past 7 months have I thought of going back, or 'homesick'. I don't know what it actually feels like. I'm not dwelling over the fact that I cannot spend a summer back in Malta. I do, however, worry that I SHOULD feel homesick. Everyone else seems to feel like that. Is it a problem with me? Am I normal? I know it hurts my mother, but I feel as though I have settled in so well here in London that I cannot imagine my life going back to the way it was. Yes, it is great to live with parents: no chores, no cooking - but I love my independence. I love walking the streets of London knowing it feels like home. I would enjoy seeing my family and friends more often, but I'm not homesick about it, to wish to back, to WANT to go back.

Don't get me wrong. I love Malta. I love my family and the friends I have there. Malta will always be home, and it shall forever have a special place in my heart. Malta is where i was brought up and lived for 20 years; it's where I was born, where I took my first steps and muttered my first word; it's where I made my first friend, where I made my first mistake and fell for my first crush. Malta is where I was introduced to culture and most importantly, it's where I fell in love with music. Nothing can replace those experiences. The foundations of who I am, where I am, and whatever I shall be doing were set on that little island that's so very dear to my heart.

So... should I feel homesick? After months of continuous thinking I came up with one final answer: No. Not if I'm happy. And up to now, this is the happiest I've ever been, and London is the place I see me building a future for myself.

Until next time!

Maria x

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blogger, london, update
Month 7: Musems, 1975 LIVE, Sight seeing, Musicals, food and Easter!

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