There was a time when moving was heartbreaking. Because my dad works in a bank, we’ve moved from one city to another nearly every three years as far back as I remember. Every few years we will load our whole household into trucks and leave behind friends, memories and part of our life. Every few years we will learn new geography, adjust ourselves to new layout of home, meet new people and invest in building relationships. Each of these moves will require learning new things, forgetting few things, apprehension of change, and bucket loads of crying. My childhood is scattered in many streets and neighbourhoods, among many friends, none of whom can be called childhood friend completely, in many schools. There was a time when this change was aching.
In recent years though, I’ve moved from one place to another so frequently that no permanent connection develops. Something at the back of mind warns of impending separation. Everything becomes transactional and short lived, rather than emotional and long term. Even when I am at a place, there is no feeling of home. There is no more pain. Alas, there is no more sense of belonging too.
It’s inevitable in globalized world where people are global citizens and residents of multiple places. Some call it belonging everywhere. I feel it is belonging nowhere. Who misses you when you move out? What do you miss when you move out? If none and nothing, then an anchor is lost. Like a ship which sails oceans to oceans, docking temporarily all around the world, never able to call any shore its home, feted to wander wide expanse forever.