Home

Reaching the itchy part on your back; ordering exactly the right food at a restaurant; climbing into a hot bath when you've been standing in the rain for an hour, or a bed when you've been awake for forty; finding a cream to make a painful rash go away, or the right song to make the crying stop: that's how I feel now that I'm home.

It was just what I needed: to put everything in perspective, and heal the broken bit inside me, and make me laugh again. I'm ill and on antibiotics - 'there was never a girl as wan as you,' as my friend pointed out crossly when I had to postpone our meeting - but I don't care: I'm ill and on antibiotics and happy as a sunbeam, because I'm back in the place where things make sense. Eating curry with my dad, sitting in the garden with my sister, curled up with mum on the sofa, eating my grandparent's biscuits. Happy, with the people I love, and the people who understand me. And they are the ones who can fix me; not a silly boy. They are the medicine to the poison I've been accidentally drinking for six months: the freshly squeezed orange juice to my litres and litres of Sunny Delight.

There isn't enough time: only five days left already, and it feels like I only just arrived. But it's alright. I no longer feel mentally exhausted and tired of Japan: I feel excited about going back, and excited about my next adventure. I'm strong enough for it again, because I've reminded myself of how much I am loved, and how many people I have behind me, no matter how far away I am.

I left home, trying to find myself. And it took coming home to realise that this is where I was all along.