In a conversation with Lizzy as we walked back from Pembroke to Medwards, we both thought about how strange it will feel like to go home.
Whenever I properly visualise the moment when I see my family again at the airport, I always cry. They are largely happy tears, but at the same time they are also tears of anxiousness over my fear that things have changed, and lots of other mixed in emotions that the english language cannot adequately express. And after my conversation with Lizzy I have begun wondering if they will be tears of another kind of homesickness, because of missing Cambridge.
How easily our hearts grow roots in places where we plant memories, and how hard to uproot them. And I think my heart has roots in so many places, that I constanly have a tugging to a bit of me somewhere else. Cambridge really has become beautifully familiar.
At the same time I wonder if my first week back will just be a succession of continuous lump-in-throat moments because everything will be so familiar but so new. The humidity and heat, the run along the green corridor, the way the bathroom curtain sticks to the wall, the gentle innocence of Tim's sleeping face, the smell of Emily's house and the familiar indents and curves of all the people I will hug again. I wonder if my head will still fit into its place on my Mum's shoulder.
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