Postcards from home

If home is where the heart is, from time to time I suffer with a broken heart. I predict an overseas foray soon… missing the thrum and rhythm and pace and scents and sounds and whirr that is New York. And my family still there.

Discussing the pox that befalls those of us who leave home in search of the big wide world is strictly taboo. Our torn hearts. Our lonely midnight pondering over being born in a place and living there your whole life. All that belonging and being part of. For us, it’s all about the glamour and excitement – at least that’s our public profile. I’ve got to keep it up. Fortunately New York is glamorous enough on its own. No point in pitying the people from Podunk – it happens to folks to shift to the next town over.

Published by Titirangi Storyteller

Telling tales from around the world

2 thoughts on “Postcards from home

  1. So many of us! The deracinated, the footloose – but there’s a huge price to be paid, and somehow you can never quite get out of debt. Thank goodness for the generous-hearted family and friends who keep on welcoming us back on our flying visits home; who miss us and want us to come back, but who understand how easy it is to get stuck elsewhere. It happens imperceptibly, with the unnoticed passing stream of time, which seems like nothing but adds up and adds up.

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