They say that home is where the heart is. Third year Easter vacation allowed me one week at home, which I enjoyed last week in the sun and safety of Surrey. Whilst absent from my beloved student ghetto, Selly Oak, I came to realise what home means to me. As a soon-to-be graduate, I will be moving back into my childhood house again in June, a return-to-the-nest that I share with the majority of my student friends and a dent in my independence that I wasn’t sure I was ready to take.
Moving back home will mark the end of my University career and the beginning of my life after education, essays and extreme emotion. I will be moving from a wonky, mismatched house that has been seemingly put together – without an instruction manual – back to a beautiful detached house which my Dad has pretty much built from nothing. I will move away from my friends with whom I’ve spent the best hangover days to my oldest friends, who I’ve come to realise, cause the worst hangovers as a result of their favourite line ‘I’ll get the next round in’.
The imminence of this ‘big move’ had been worrying me until this weekend just gone, when, for the first time, I didn’t feel complete dread about leaving my beloved University life behind and moving back to my old one. I was sat in the pub with my best girl friends around me and three bottles of wine on the table. We were at the local, we were surrounded by people that we’d known for years and we were in a familiar place. We bumped into friends who we used to know from school and when we got chucked out of the pub after last orders, we wandered over to the snooker hall, our old high school haunt and talked about the mischeif we had got up to and what we were all doing now. For the first time in ages, I felt ok about moving back to this life. I haven’t sold it as glamorous there at all, but I’m lucky to have a home that I can go back to and that I can slot in to as if I’ve never been away.
So when they say that home is where the heart is, I agree with them. Whoever ‘them’ or ‘they’ are. Along with the heart, my home is also where tea, arguments with my sister are and a father who complains about most things (in a jovial way). It’s where a mum who makes me 17 cups of tea a day and a brother who has the most annoying friends is. It’s where I’m meant to be and it’s where I will be, after this final push is finished with. So, here’s to home.