Even with the red passport sat in drawer I am yet to feel British enough for it to be an identifier. I have enjoyed and continue to enjoy the airport benefits that come with having a red British passport - although post brexit who knows what that will look like for travel to EU countries-. England feels like home when returning from holiday and I am looking forward to being in my own bed, after a while sleeping in someone else’s bed loses its initial appeal.
Having being fortunate enough to travel to other African countries, each country felt like a version of home and provided me with home comforts. Zambia is where my family is, where the hearts of people is warmer than the heat, if you fit in the small box reserved for women.
I had this burning urge to go home, going back to my mum’s house did nothing to quench this desire, I hastily packed my life and went home to Zambia, I was certain this would quench the unsettling feeling that I was perpetually living in suitcases. My life felt like I was on someone else’s holiday, like I was sleeping in someone’s bed, it had lost it’s appeal and I was ready to go home.
The suitcases where no longer just a feeling, I was now lugging them with me. Disappointed on my return the only suitcases I managed to leave behind were of the physical kind, although I do not regret going I had grown and learned so much during my time, I kind of was glad I had one less physical suitcase, because at the airport the suitcase handle broke so it was kinda peak.
I got back and needed a holiday, I came back having mastered the art of slowing down; you learn by force when you only have electricity for a few hours and your phone no longer connects to the internet. I began meditating and trusting my instincts. Roots began taking form and shape, I was none the wiser I began removing myself from places, things and people that no longer felt good, when things didn’t work out I knew then it wasn’t meant from me and were learning blocks, I began to trust the process of mourning the hard work and celebrating the opportunity presented to grow.
I lay in bed one night and realised I felt at home for the first time, the irony of the fact that the bed I was in was not my own made me laugh at the knowledge that the suitcases in the corner of the room where the only ones I was carrying at that moment in time. I am learning and finding comfort in the fact that nothing can cut my roots, I belong and no one can take the earth beneath my feet.
I guess home really is where the heart is.
I am going out in nature more and ensuring my plants are growing healthy. I am grateful each day of being.
P.S - Plus you know no where will ever feel like home if I don’t feel at home in me, in England despite my papers I am too black, too African, for these reasons and many others I am reminded daily that I don’t belong, and in Zambia I am too gay too British, for these reasons and others I am reminded I do not belong unless I conform. I won’t win trying to break my back doing things for the benefit of others while shunning my own needs. I do not win if I am beefing all of my own moves.
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