This was written several months ago, at the peak of my frustration when i wasn’t getting leave to go vacationing. Dug this up from my archives today, and what the heck, thought of posting it anyway.

That’s how the slide starts. At first an eagerness to go home every six months. Then realisation strikes, of the impracticality, the very obtuseness of the idea. After that, once a twelvemonth is necessary. The first couple of years pass in happy unawareness. As entanglements increase, alongside a multitude of difficulties, consciousness dawns. Once a twelvemonth will no longer be possible, go whenever you next get the chance. Which might not be for another year. The gap between visits slowly widens. The chasm gapes until, one day, there is no longer the courage to make that leap. It then simply becomes a matter of formality, a regulation to be observed. Home, doesn’t beckon anymore. It becomes something spoken of wonderingly, unsurety tingeing the words, myth no longer distinct from reality. It slowly becomes a five-year goal. Five years, where once five months seemed long. The other side of the chasm is no longer visible when awake.

It comes back only to haunt the sleep and linger in the dreams.. that pining for the home far, far away.