Some Days I Just Miss Home
Some days it’s just like this. Some days I just wake up missing home. Missing Manchester. Missing England. Wishing I could be there, have a home there. But it’s just not as easy as that. I made a choice and I’m here. But I miss my city. I miss my country. The people. Family and friends. Buses. I miss Asda. I miss walking. I miss pavements. I miss just being able to step out the house whenever I felt like it and going somewhere/anywhere/nowhere. I miss parks and green grass, and walking and walking until all of the crap in my head has unravelled itself from its tangled mess. I miss the seasons – particularly Autumn. I miss watching the leaves become alive, slowly dying, breaking off, crumbling – only to be born again. I miss the accents. I miss the language. I miss walking down a crowded street and catching snippets of conversation that I actually understand. I miss feeling comfortable. Oh how I miss feeling comfortable. I miss cosying up under a blanket with a hot cup of coffee. I miss wearing oversized jumpers, scarves around my neck and multi-coloured sneakers. I miss my leather jacket. I miss my hair being compatible and staying nice and sleek, rather than the humidified, frizzy mess that it becomes over here. I miss feeling like I look nice. Because when I’m hot, sweaty and flustered pretty much all the time here, I feel like I never look nice. I miss so much and God, I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, because I know I am blessed and I know how much I have.
But some days it’s just like this. Some days I just really miss home.