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An Essay on Moving Home

In October of 2017, I left Toronto and moved back home to my parents’ house. Although, this time was interesting, as I had never actually lived in this new house they bought.

I love it, I’d think to myself. I can save so much money hereI love how close we live to downtown now.

The last time I really lived at home was in 2012. I left my parents’ house at a fairly young age. I was the sibling to live on their own for the longest. I never expected to come back home, but life never fully goes the way you want it to all the time.

Now that it’s been a few months since I moved home, I feel like I can be honest. I moved home because I had to. No, not financially. I had to for my family, for myself, because my life wasn’t really working.

I miss Toronto a lot. I think about moving back all the time. A part of me wants to move back in a month, in 6 months, but I know that it’s ultimately down to what ever works out. There’s no set date on when I’m going back yet. I’ve decided to finally surrender myself to what ever’s in the cards for me, to what ever’s supposed to happen.

I’m not a passive passenger in my life. I never have been. But I’ve also been too controlling of my own life for a while now. My best moments have been always when I let myself give up my full power to God’s will.

This isn’t a religious post; it’s what’s really in my heart.

I gave myself over to the wrong ideals for a while. I convinced myself that I could manage everything on my own. I decided, a long time ago, that I didn’t want to live at home any longer than I had to. I didn’t realize how much of life is about asking for help, accepting that you can’t fully be in control of your life, and how important relationships are.

I’m not going through most struggles most “boomerang” kids are going through. I lived a full life before moving home. I travelled, experienced things, and don’t regret living abroad. Yes, my parents were a little overbearing at first. I had a very tough time adapting to living with other people again, after being away for so long. To come home, to have my mom want me to be at the dinner table, it was a shock to the system.

But not all shocks are bad. This shock, in particular, was good. I have learned to connect and to communicate with my family in ways that I never could before. Maybe it’s maturity, or maybe it’s that distance makes the heart grow fonder. Maybe it’s that travelling the world, having met different people, I realize how important it is to appreciate what you’ve been given.

Gratitude is the most important thing I have been able to take away from 2017, from moving home. I now realize how grateful I am for the little things I used to take for granted. I realize how grateful I am to have the opportunity to be home.

“Not everyone is as lucky as you are,” my mom used to say.

I’m not lucky, I’d think somewhat recently. A while ago, I really did feel lucky. It felt like things always fell into place for me. I suddenly went from being a shy, introverted, perpetually-underaged-looking girl who never went beyond her city limits alone, to travelling the world, to meeting various people, to learning languages, to feeling like a full person.

I thought my luck had to run out, because no one’s luck lasts forever. And because I thought that, the negativity came to fruition.

I’m no longer running on those vibrations. I’m no longer “out of luck”. Luck is a real thing, maybe, but my mindset’s stronger.

When life hits you with the worst things is when you have to be the most grateful. If nothing else can make you realize your fortunes, gratitude can.

So, I’m sitting here, in my room. It’s bizarre to be home, yet it doesn’t feel weird at all. What a paradox, isn’t it? But while I wouldn’t wish any negativity on my future self, my present self realizes that in moments of pain, greater things can be realized. I no longer recognize the person I was a year ago. It was only a year ago, but I feel entirely different.

And that’s a good thing. I’m happy to be home.


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