The writer says you need to leave home to fully understand what it means to yearn for familiar things and to miss home. — Freepik
Like all things familiar, we sometimes forget to appreciate it – until we are far away. Only when we leave do we realise how much we took things for granted.
It starts with the little things: the sense of safety, the confidence of knowing exactly what to do. If my elderly mother needed medical treatment back home, there was no worry. I could walk into an emergency department at any hour and know she would be seen, even if it took hours. Or I could simply take her to a private hospital.
In a foreign land, every step is laced with uncertainty – How? Why? When?
Whenever my mum visits me in the UK, my greatest fear is that she might fall ill.
And when the Heathrow immigration line stretches for two hours, that is when homesickness hits hardest.
Back home, there is no such wait. Once, it was the autogates at KLIA that gave me quiet pride each time I returned from my travels. Now, it’s the My Border Pass app. Either way, going home means belonging. Going home means sailing through immigration.
Homesickness creeps in quietly at first, then becomes relentless. It’s the ache of being far from your comfort zone.
Food never quite tastes the same, even when cooked by another Malaysian in a London restaurant. Maybe it’s the water. Maybe it’s the absence of real spice. Back home, even a humble roadside stall meal tastes divine after months away.
It’s the struggle of adjusting to a place where the sun rarely shines bright, where the winds are sharp and unforgiving, and where laundry never dries to that perfect, sun-toasted crispness.
It’s the longing to speak Malay, Manglish, Tamil – or even just plain English – without having to strain to catch unfamiliar accents.
It’s missing the ease of having a car – where you never had to think twice about parking. Here, even in your own residential area, spaces can be scarce. And that’s before factoring in the parking permits.
Back home, there is only one nationwide energy supplier – Tenaga Nasional. Here, every time you move, you have to figure out which supplier covers your new address, set everything up yourself, and brace for the bills to start coming.
Malaysia Airlines no longer plays my favourite automated message on board: “To all returning Malaysians, welcome home.” At least, it wasn’t played on my last flight from London when it landed at KLIA Terminal 1. But the pilot said it himself.
And still, those words give me goosebumps.
Sometimes you need to leave for the full meaning of those words to sink deep into your bones.
Welcome home.
