first journey home

Booked our flights back to South Africa for February and Poen's wedding.*



Three whole weeks.



Am so scared and so excited.



Fuck me.



Excited to see everyone, spend time with my family, view Jozi and Cape Town with tourist eyes, show my Brit more of my country.



Scared because I'll have to leave them all again. Scared in case seeing South Africa with tourist eyes makes my vision biased and make me not want to go back to England. (Especially as it will be mid-winter here.)



Scared of the nostalgia. And what I left behind.



Scared because I wouldn't have been back for over a year and a half. On purpose.



Scared as he'll meet my Dad for the first time.



But so excited to be a part of Poen's wedding, embrace home like I never have before, enjoy the sun, enjoy the cheapness of the Ront, see my whole family, drink Diemersfontein with my friends, take the Brit along the Garden Route and to Natal to see where I come from.



(He may be pleasantly surprised at how English the Natal Midlands is, for example. Will make sure we eat lots of scones.)



I am completely torn about going home, mostly because after being away for so long you forget the bad stuff. Your brain behaves like it does after a bad break up when you immigrate.



As time passes, you forget the shit times. You only remember the good stuff. Like the sun, the large gardens, driving everywhere, how chilled out it is, braais, friendly South Africans, biltong - oh my fuck biltong.



I left home at the end of the FIFA World Cup - when the country was celebrating, festive and blowing each other's vuvuzelas.



I have to remind myself of the bad stuff when I get home sick. Like the traffic. Like drunken driving. Like always looking over your shoulder in case you're hi-jacked. How dry it gets on the Highveld in winter, how bored I was. How everyone has a house, 1.4 kids, a picket fence and life insurance.



Joburg left me behind, I didn't leave it behind. I don't have children, am not close to being married, and while my friends give birth, I travel around random places like Slovakia in my spare time. So I cannot complain.



Regardless, it's my home. And I will always attribute a huge chunk of my existence, experiences and life to it.



And even though I have a new home, and live in one of the most exciting cities in the world, it'll be good to see how much I miss England after my three weeks there. Probably more than I expect.



I am very excited. I wonder if it's different or same same?



*Jesus. I'm not going for at least another five months still.