The thing about moving abroad is just that: you’ve moved. Sure, maybe you’ll come back at some murky point in the future, and in theory, life will remain relatively the way you left it. But you cannot be certain. You don’t know if you’ll get to see your grandmother again before she passes, if your family will collapse without you, or if the people you loved before will still be there. Will still love you back.
Either way it doesn’t matter — you’re not there now.
The thing is, “abroad”, while it can be at times very magical, is not an intrinsically magical place to be. Unfortunately the sparkle of a new place wears off at a speed very much like that of glitter glue, and we all know how disappointing that can fucking be! Besides, once you’ve moved abroad, what does abroad even mean? Turns out the other side of the world is just another place with more people chasing the same things in a different way. It’s not the dark side of the moon; it’s not the moon at all. There’s still oxygen here for your problems to feed on. They can still squeeze themselves into your rucksack. And I, with my problems, will still be an outcast from “normal” social circles, will still wake myself up screaming in the middle of the night, will still sleep through all my classes and waste away hours each evening in trance-land.
I didn’t really want to run away, but that’s good I guess. I haven’t made it very far.