I recently went back to Adelaide to visit family and friends. It was relaxing, lovely, and familiar. Familiarity can be comforting, but it can also be scary. The constancy, almost as if no time had passed, was also, at the same time, scary.
Maybe it’s just me and my unwillingness to commit, but I find stability and constancy to be terrifying. Have I fallen off the bandwagon? Do I even want to be on one? I think each time I go back home, I am reminded of why I had wanted to leave in the first place.
It’s not that I don’t love the place. I do. It’s a beautiful and peaceful place. And it’s not the people either. I do love my friends back home. And it’s not the family either. I miss my family and do wish I could see them more often. But there’s just something that I cannot exactly put my finger on. Maybe it brings me back to when I was an adolescent and reminds me of my struggle to go against convention. I’m not entirely sure. Maybe it’s my fear of living a stable, conventional life - get a tertiary education, get a job (preferably government), get a house, get married, have kids and have the occasional weekend barbecue.
Or maybe it’s a deep envy of those who are living that life? Or maybe it’s a reminder of all the things I don’t have? Or things I don’t want? What is it with me and convention? It’s getting late, and I’m rambling on again.
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