Well, I’ve been back home for 10 days now. The funny thing is, I didn’t miss it much. Indeed, had I been told before leaving that my flight had been cancelled and that the next available flight wasn’t for another two weeks, I’d have readily accepted the news.

Maybe it’s because I was very rarely alone when I didn’t want to be. Maybe it’s because I was in the same timezone as numerous old friends. Maybe it’s because I spent a fair bit of time with a certain woman whose company I happen to really enjoy.

Or maybe it’s just an inevitable part of growing up. Four years ago, the best part of my day was calling my family from Kingston and getting to speak with them. At Herstmonceux, despite being 3000 miles further away, it was almost a chore to speak to them.

It’s not that I dislike my home. I’m just feeling the urge to gain a bit more autonomy. I’ve spent the better part of the last 10 months away from home, and so being told over Skype what I should be doing every 10 minutes grated on me a little. Now that I’m home, it’s grating on me a little more.

But hey, maybe feeling a little distant towards your home is only natural. Maybe the only weird thing is that it took 23 years to start to feel like this.