It’s weird to come to a place that you once called home and not have it feel like home at all. It’s been years since I felt like I had home anywhere. When I am in one place I call the other home, and vice versa. I think it’s to trick myself into thinking that I have somewhere to love. I always tell myself, ‘when you get home, everything will be better’, but as I get older I’m trusting myself less and less for this promise to come true. I wonder how I am ever supposed to be settled in, knowing that for the next 6 years or so I will always be moving. I have convinced myself that all this movement is what growth looks like, to distract myself from the fact that it has robbed me of love, friendships, relationship with my family, and having a place to call home. I am always looking and working towards the future, just to sit at the end of every day and not be satisfied with the present moment. Everything feels so temporary. There is no time for love or family or home. I am tired of always moving. The movement is exhausting, the growth is draining, not having a present life that makes me as happy as the dreams of my future life is daunting. I am getting older. I am questioning everything. And I don’t want to get to my end point just to find the journey was supposed to be the fun part.