The Guilt of Being Away From Home
Today, I felt so bad for leaving home.
Not in the simple way people say they miss home. Not like missing food, comfort, or familiar rooms. It was heavier than that. It was the kind of guilt that suddenly sits on your chest and makes you question every choice that brought you away from the people who love you.
She called me today.
It had been a week or two since we last talked properly. She said she missed me. She had her tooth removed recently, and I think it had been painful. At first, it was just a normal conversation. Then her voice changed.
She started crying.
There was nobody to even ask what happened.
If he were here, he would have cared so much. He would have asked. He would have taken me to get checked.
And the worst part is, I know I would have done the same too.
If I were there, I would have checked up on her again and again. I would have asked how she was feeling. I would have talked to her, sat with her, maybe even taken her to the doctor myself. I would have made sure she did not feel alone in her pain.
But I was not there.
I was far away, listening through a phone, trying to hold myself together.
I could not stop my tears from coming, but I could not cry like a child in front of her either. So I swallowed it. I carried it quietly. There was this knot in my chest, and everything suddenly felt heavy. For a second, it even became hard to breathe.
Why does it have to be like this?
Why do I feel things this deeply every single time?
Sometimes I wonder if it is just me. Maybe everyone feels this much and simply hides it better. Maybe everyone carries guilt, love, homesickness, and grief in their own quiet ways. Maybe some people are just better at acting normal.
Today, I just wanted to be home.
With her.
With my people.
With the ones who love me for nothing more than my smile.
There are versions of us that still live inside old photographs.
I wanted to sit beside her again. I wanted to spend time with her without needing a reason. I wanted to become that child again, the one she used to carry around, the one who did not yet understand distance, responsibility, migration, adulthood, or the strange loneliness of building a life away from home.
People do not know how much I miss Baba.
I would trade anything for one more day with him. Just one more day. One more conversation. One more ordinary moment that I probably would not have understood the value of while living it.
And maybe that is the cruelest part of life.
So many things become precious only after they are gone.
Today was just another low day in life. Nothing dramatic happened from the outside. But inside, it felt like something broke open again.
Life is hard, man.
Sometimes I wish I could feel less. I wish I could take these emotions and make them smaller. I wish love did not come with so much ache. I wish missing people did not feel like carrying a stone inside my chest.
But then I wonder — who would I even be without all these feelings?
Maybe this pain exists because I love deeply.
Maybe this guilt exists because I care.
Maybe missing home this much means I still belong somewhere, even if I am far away from it.
And maybe, for today, that has to be enough.
Even if I do not understand everything yet, I am still listening to myself.
😭❤️
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