13 hours on a plane can kill anyone’s will. But the excitement of coming back home was like coke to me. I was fully awake, fully functional. And annoyed. Missing my life back in DK. Missing what I left behind. Coughing with the polluted air of my city, and the polluted people from my country. Chileans are the worst.
My mum cried when she saw me coming out the gates. She rushed to hug me. My eyes watered a bit when I felt her embrace. Hadn’t seen nor touched her in a year. Then the feeling of everything being the same soon left me numb to the change of location. I was really back.
In the last couple of days I have met my dad, my oldest sister Lorna and her daughter. Have been to my old neighborhood and met one of my best friends and his departing German girlfriend. I have gone to an art exhibition opening, with lots of free booze. I had been an ass to my mum, acting moody because of this fucking country and its people. And I have tried Tinder. Not much going on there.
I have been awake since 7 am. Same yesterday. I can’t shake the feeling that I have a lot to do and plenty of people to meet and I just don’t have enough time. And everything around me seems odd. Familiar, but odd. And the most soothing thing that has happened since I arrived has been talking with Marie on the phone yesterday. Which I prefer not to think too much about.
I came back to Chile looking for answers. “Should I move back? Is Santiago where I really belong?” But I was also seeking to feel home, which was a feeling I missed for a long time. But home is nowhere to be found here. The city and my people remained the same, and I changed in the process. Yet Copenhagen doesn’t feel much like home either. So the questions now have changed. “Where is home? What should home feel like? Will I ever find it?” I’m afraid of the answers. If any.