The other day my cab driver told me that he has been in this town for about fourteen years now. I asked him with surprise – wow! so how has it been here for fourteen years? It’s a long long time! He said – yeah I like it, but east or west, home is the best. Right? He was from Uganda. I said – I don’t know what to say to that. I am not attached to any place, not even my homeland. I mean, I love it and all, but I love it like I would love any other place. He did not reply to that. I kept talking – I think may be I have not been away from my homeland for too long ever. I know I said that just to make him feel better about his harmless jingoism. But I knew what I was talking about.
One year in a house, in a new country. I bid my goodbye to that house last night. I am at a temporary place right now, in a room, on a bed. Surrounded by so much stuff that the only visible space on floor is where we left it free for walking.
My adieu to a house, that finally became a home, just for one inhabitant. That’s me. A house where I grew up the most in the least amount of time. The walls of which saw me smile and weep. A house where I made enemies and some friends. A house that saw me drown, and that saw me fly. A house where there were first times, and last times. Outside which my love kissed me, on our first night. Inside which he kissed me, for the last time. A house with a beautiful window, which was my friend on all those sleepless nights. From where I saw the sun, and the moon, pretty with clouds and all. I will not miss it, but I will have the memories.
I have a new a house to dwell in, to make a home of. New stories to live. New places to go to. My feet won’t stop. Not until my heart beats.
PS: The world is my oyster