The Return

"Something is dying...little by little...I feel it every time I return...dying..."

I want it to be new every time I return. I want it to be fresh, blossoming...I want to breathe in the air I was born in and say I have returned...to MY city. When I left, I left with childish dreams of pastures that looked greener...almost like a nomad, only to realise that I was childish and I was dreaming. This time when I was returning, I had dreams again, or rather hopes that I would be appreciating chaos and madness...only to realise that I no longer existed in that chaos...only a faint shadow did...growing fainter by the day...

My purpose of return is almost hazy now...its usually because I have vacations and everyone returns during vacation and yes my parents...I must see them. I miss my mother sometimes, more than I would have myself believe or admit. No one else matters much. I had a long list of friends I would always want to meet up initially...but now I seem to figure less and less in their lives. They have their families, their jobs, their boy friends...and I have lost all patience for them. I cannot even identify myself with people I have spent years of my life with. I don't blame them. No one is indispensible. Neither am I. My list has boiled down to just two.

I returned for one of the biggest festivals in my city...I wanted to smell it like I always did...I wanted to be a part of it...taste it...bathe in it. I failed. I simply failed and I have no clue why. No sooner had I set foot on my soil that I wanted to turn away and leave. Run. I wanted to come back in spite of the home cooked food, the luxury of having to do nothing and the comfort. Come back. My 'Return' has become just a 'Visit' now. Because I always want to come back...I want to come back to my books...to my people...to the place where I am not just a redundant shadow but a functional member of a group, where I am bombarded with assignments and work, where people are expecting me...expecting me to come back...expecting me to Return...