Home is home. I've developed an annoying habit of saying these words, to everyone who asks if I'm happy to be back. I've been home for just over two months now. It took me all of December to shake the restlessness and the underlying feeling of not belonging. When you've lived away from home for a long time (as other travellers will know) you change, the people you've left behind change. And when you return, you have to find a new way to fit into 'home'.
Cape Town is my home. I love this city. The way that mountain stands over us, looming and spying constantly, watching our every move. She is a central point in our lives, always pulling us back to her, gently but firmly pulling us back. I love the way the smell of sea salt can hit you as you open your front door in the morning, even if you live 20km inland. And that black south-easter which when it blows leaves no man untouched. No one can escape its wrath.
But it is the people who have me disillusioned, not all, not even a majority, just some. Some people are quick-witted and funny, can make you laugh, but are weak in acting on their convictions. Some people are quick to judge other's ideas, their new endeavours; it is easier for them to throw a why or cynical comment at you, than simply encourage you.
It's tiring. It's tiring and oh so destructive and unnecessary.
I'd like to end this post on a positive note but the words won't come. For now, the eternal optimist is somewhat disillusioned...
