The opposite of travel
In times that constantly tell us to travel, have we forgotten to appreciate the permanence of home?
It was night already and there was no electricity connection anymore. All I had was the streetlight to look at what was left of the house that I grew up in. The gates were closed and there were tall metal sheets blocking it from view, from where I stood. Was it ashamed to let me see what it looked like? Was it hiding from me the way I used it to hide in it when I felt like I needed to?
We knocked on the gate and a security guard opened and let us in. What was he protecting? There was nothing left. It looked like it had got into a fight in a bar. Someone had got angry and punched a hole here, injured it there, the concrete missing in chunks, the structure falling apart in irregular bits, obscuring contours that I knew so well.
And just like that, my lower lip trembled, curled and I started to cry. It was completely unexpected, I didn’t know I’d react like that. It had been years since we moved out. I had lived in so many places since, but always temporarily. I knew this was coming — the demolition, the final goodbye. So why the water works?
Pack your bags, get out, leave, we’re told. On Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest, there are pictures of beaches we need to recline on, mountains we need to climb, green open fields we need to run in. Go away, go travel, there’s so much to see of this big beautiful world. Whether young or old, rich or broke. Just go.
Although we have historically been wanderers, moving where there was food and water, building homes where the next meal was, so to speak, the majority of us have evolved to live more permanent lives. We have homes that we leave each day for varying amounts of time and then come back to. Homes, for those of us who accept we have one, form an inextricable part, play an undisputable role, at the centre of our lives.
They are what the rest of our lives branch out from. Even travel. Think about it. The joy of going someplace new and leaving the known behind is exciting when you’ve known stability, predictability and routine that often takes shape around a home. And for many of us, however great a holiday is, and often toward the end of it, we look forward to going back home almost as much as we looked forward to going away.
But what about when leaving home isn’t a choice but circumstance. This year, we’ve seen the refugee crisis play out, where families are forced out of their homes, with no hope of returning, and no home to look forward to. They are stuck somewhere in the middle and that uncertainty, and the vulnerability that accompanies it, has been at the core of what is described as one of the worst human experiences in recent times.
A home represents self-sufficiency and progress. It holds our secrets and sees the worst side of ourselves — the groggy, the hungover, the angry and sad. It’s a family member that enjoys none of the benefits of a human relationship. The house I grew up in had a wall with pencil marks to record how tall I had grown in the past year. It had memories, happy and sad, and so when I cried that day, maybe it was because a little bit of me was torn down and lost forever with the house, buried forever under the debris.
Travel is everything that you hear it is, and more. Take my word for it. Or don’t. Go discover its life-altering effects for yourself. Because travel might make you think of home differently. And maybe, you’ve only really travelled, come a full circle or gone far enough, when you ache for home.
