>What do I make of the city I once called home? The city that has me feeling utterly torn. The city that in some way will always be home, and yet it’s the same city that I feel I have moved so far away from. The city that groomed me to be the person I am. The city I once thought I would never leave. Who ever thought going back home could leave one feeling torn? I didn’t, until my recent trip back home.
At its core, Bengalooroo will remain “home”, in the truest sense of the word. A place with familiarity. Comfort. Warmth. Where Im always welcome. Where I can go unannounced and still be welcomed. But as I recently discovered, it’s not where my heart is.
I just don’t know what to make of it city anymore. On one hand it is home. Because when I walk into my home, the apartment my parents live in, there’s a calmness I just cant fight. That old familiarity returns. The happy vibes and warmth envelop me. The smiling faces of people waiting for me – nothing compares. But that’s just the confines of the nest I once lived in. But outside of that? Nothing feels the same.
After my recent trip back home, Ive realized that its not the city that I miss. It’s the people, the associations and memories that I tug at my heart more than anything else. So yes, I miss my old home, I miss my parents, I miss the handful of friends I have. Heck, sometimes I even miss my ex-workplace and my friends there. But do I miss the city?
Not one bit. With every trip I make back, I realize how my tolerance for the chaos and hustle-bustle of that city has diminished. That’s when I realise that maybe home really is just where the heart is. The truth is, that place has become Goa. And that’s precisely why I feel torn. It’s a feeling of having to choose between the city that holds all my memories, and the city I now love as much as my own.