As I write this piece I am reminded of the warmth and affection I once felt for my home , after leaving for another city for the first time in my life.

I still love my home, there will never be another replacement for the walls that held me at my lowest and the windows that celebrated my joys.

But visiting home after you have learnt to survive on your own, hits you differently.

No one ever talks about the reality behind sitting face to face with everything that you left behind for a better life.

Coming home after a gruelling year of battling illness and unemployment, finally being in a stable state on the surface, makes you look at everything in a new light.

Coming home has always been about coming back to the comfort of my known surroundings, no matter how illogical it may seem to anyone on the outside.

Sitting in my room with everything I have ever used or bought gave me a chance to learn about myself, I remember opening my cupboard and scanning through my clothes. Each telling me a different story about myself.

I remember sitting and having the same old conversations with my parents and realising the need to alter my responses.

I remember sitting in my living room and feeling so different, almost as if I was sitting there with different versions of myself. My teenage self being so anxious and stuffing desserts, my early adulthood self being so upset and here I was somewhat evolved sitting in calmness.

I looked through so many old photos this time and captured an array of emotions that I have felt and buried.

I realised this time , I came home as a different person, as a new version of myself and I spent time in cajoling and sympathising with all my past versions that needed guidance.

It almost felt like God sent me home to close some chapters in peace.

I believe coming home this time was about meeting myself and letting her know that life maybe unpredictable but there is immense strength in constantly finding light within.

Home will now be a place where I gave light to so many dark places.