Suburbia

A song that reminds me of home.

I am terribly, unmistakably homesick.

It’s a Sunday night and I’ve already been in bed all day. I should really be drilling on sample questions for the upcoming finals, but instead I’m wrapped up in a thick blanket which smelled exactly like my favorite one back home. The scent brings back memories of winter nights snuggling with my mother and little brother under countless layers. My mom would complain nonstop about the temperature of my feet — most of the times they are ice-cold — while rubbing hers against mine to warm them up. My brother, on the other hand, would aggressively avoid any kind of physical interaction with my poor frozen feet until Mom finished the heating up. A Chinese sitcom and each other were all we needed on those dreaded hours of the wind fiercely banging on our windows, clearly trying to sneak in the biting cold but in vain.

Those are the old days. Now I’m swallowed up in nostalgia, unable to console myself. My feet are cold to the bones, my hand freezed to numbness. My heart slowly breaking from the fresh cuts. And Mom is not here to talk me through this loneliness or ease this enduring suffering or soothe this helplessly devastating pain.

Swallow nostalgia, chase it with lime. Better than dwelling and chasing time
(Troye Sivan, ‘Suburbia’)

They say we people away from home only find our way back when we feel so low, we barely feel anything. It’s true we come home with broken hearts. But even during moments of happiness, we all secretly crave the comfort of home and Mom’s cooking. Because we’re never fully happy. Even in the best times looms the possibility of darker days. Every day welcomes a new form of torture. But torture has no haste. Some days it’s easy on us. Other days, it sweeps us away in utter disappointment and tearing agony. With time, the pain adds up, mindfully playing with your head and eating you up until you can’t take it anymore. It reaches a breaking point when you ditch the whole scene and pack up for the next train home. Because home is safe, warm and filled with your beloveds. Home doesn’t give you homework or bad grades or set up deadlines. Home doesn’t throw you out on the streets (nor tell you, ‘I like you as a friend — I really do, but come on! Look at the Johnsons next door: they’re gorgeous and clearly better than you so I love them and I want them in. Not you. No hard feelings, though.’). Because home doesn’t judge or force you around or make you feel unwanted. Home is just home — the best, most heart-warming word the English language has ever created.

Every single solitary time I come home, my heart is healed. But it’s also cracked up a bit.

Missing occasions I can’t rewind. Can’t help but feel I’ve lost what’s mine.
(Troye Sivan, ‘Suburbia’)

Because every time I come home, my brother is at least an inch taller, my Dad’s hair just gets a little grayer and Mom has one more crinkle by her eyes. Every time I come home, I bring back a broken heart only to realize how many broken hearts I’ve missed out while I’m away. My best friends get in and out of relationships, most of which don’t turn out well. My family has gone through some struggle. Someone I know passed away. And I should have been there but I was not. I was never around when they needed me most. It’s been a year and I’m still brought to tears thinking about my little hometown and how much I’m missing out.

I’m tearful writing this. So…

It seems I’m never letting go of Suburbia

Hanoi, 7 December — 13 days away from home.