The last few days...

I haven't written much for the last few days. I have been ill and have not been entirely inspired to write. This is partly due to a bit of sadness, a bit of depression, a bit of lethargy, and a bit of homesickness. (Yes, J.K., I miss home -- I miss Asia!) Another reason for all this is family.

A wise person once said "We choose our friends; our family is chosen for us". Without disparaging anyone (none of my family read this anyway!) I'd like to comment on family and the odd position we find ourselves in when we return home to them. Being out in the world has been incredibly good for me. I have learned how to give people the benefit of the doubt and not assume I know their words before they speak them. I have also learned to speak softly and firmly when needs be and not rant at someone when I am dissatisfied, and I know that many people in the world will stop and listen. I have become a man, self-assured, confident, unafraid of the reactions of others. Family does not necessarily do these things for us, and does not let us be the kind of people we are with the rest of the world. With family, it is easy to fall into old and unproductive habits.

As many people may know (though I am sure not all do) my biggest fear/source of anxiety/pet peeve/annoyance is when others do not pay attention to me, that is when I am ignored, discarded, or worse -- disregarded! It hurts me. It hurts me in a way nothing else can. It is, perhaps, a failing, perhaps a vulnerability. This is my 'kryptonite'. And, though Superman could change, and grow, and develop through his multitude of adventures, he was always felled by kryptonite -- the thing that affected him and no one else. I realise now that we all have our own personal kryptonite, and like Superman it is often something that originated from the place where we started. It came from home.

When I work here on the farm, I get it. I get the kind of discussion that I unconsciously loathe and am not used to getting -- people who talk to me without looking at me, those who talk about me as though I am not there. Now to be clear, I hold no ill will against anyone. They all talk to each other that way, I am not special -- it is not like anyone hates me. (Kryptonite was just a rock after all; it never hated Superman.) Regardless, it still hurts and the hardest part of being home suddenly smacks itself in my face: resisting the temptation to react to this and become someone I stopped being years ago.

They say you can never go home.
A part of me prays that is true.