What does a quarter mean to you? About a fortnight ago, I realized I’ve spent a quarter of my life so far in a country far from home. 7 years. 7 years that have sometimes felt like 7 days, like no time has passed, and other times felt like 7 lifetimes. They say you’re a new person every 7 years, which could very well be a myth, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t ring true. In 14 years, I will have spent half my time alive in a country far from home. At what point does this country start feeling like home too? Maybe it already has. Maybe I have two homes. Maybe I have no home. Maybe I’m home wherever I am.
In this quarter, I have grown, changed, been molded and shaped in ways I would not have expected. I’ve gained new perspectives, discovered new aspects of my personality, new likes and dislikes, but at the expense of certain losses extending to acquaintances, experiences, and versions of my past self, with only memories keeping them from oblivion.