Leaving home is always the saddest except home is the place that makes you most sad. When I walked away from home, I didn’t do so because there was a close substitute but because I wanted to survive, have a shot at life and an opportunity to dream just the way everyone who had a home did.
That was why when Sandy called me a stranger and said I had to go home because she saw me as danger, I felt bad. I felt bad because I didn’t choose this life. I didn’t choose to set my home on fire as a pretext to flee to another man’s home and make him uncomfortable. I didn’t choose this life of waking up one morning to a sun that had sworn to not shine and be homeless. I didn’t choose to go to bed one night with a name and a home only to wake up to none. This life chose me.
And when I look back at it in retrospect, I understand more now than I did before that when life gave chances it also took back in equal or greater measure somehow. So when I see a man who had surplus supply of oxygen a day before, lying helplessly in open space the next, full of something that once gave him life but not being able to use it, I understand life has taken from him today, the chance she gave to him yesterday.
Leaving home is always the saddest especially when you realize you once had a big home, with a big table and plenty of love to go round. When I went away from home and discovered I wasn’t accepted anywhere else, it broke me because acceptance wasn’t what I craved for the most. I only wanted a place where I could be seen as human. I didn’t want another big table, home or anything. I just wanted to live.
That was why when Matt said I needed to leave his country because I was stealing his jobs, I was distraught. I felt bad because a job was the least thing on the mind of anyone fleeing a fire, a cacophony, or a generally harmful environment. A job was a luxury a man whose house was set ablaze couldn’t afford. A job was the second to last thing to worry about –with the last thing being death –to anyone fleeing from terror with no idea where tomorrow had moved to stay.
When I left home with everything behind and nothing but hopes and dreams for a land with a brighter sun, I didn’t mind much the leaky boat with indignant penetrating waters. I didn’t fear the thought of a capsize or the sniveling teeth of a feral whale or lurking shark of a thousand night hunger or impending death song. I understood death was not the ultimate problem but dying without a cause –a motive or something, anything at all that kept you dreaming and made the pain a dol lesser.
Leaving home is always the saddest when you make that thousands of mile journey only to understand there will never be a home, a place to call home, or anything with the semblance of home.
I left home in search for another home but I hadn’t realize home was just another place in hell. I left home sad but not this sad.
N/B: All images excerpted from the internet.