It Was the Beginning of Lockdown, and I Returned Home After Four Years Abroad
My true story of being lost in space
March 2020. I return.
A two weeks expedite of my flight ticket. Not a big difference: I was homebound anyway. Avoiding transit through Singapore, they say it’s red zone. I’m choosing a route through Malaysia instead. Bali via Malaysia, to Norway.
I arrive at an empty Gardermoen airport. Only the military guarding the border, and myself. They barely look at my passport: Norwegian. Welcome home.
Am I welcome home? I’m not sure.
My parents pick me up. We haven’t met in a year. Is this even home anymore? I move into the basement of their house, the scene of my desperate teenage years. I unpack the contents of my suitcase: my Indian carpet, my tea set, my clothes.
Docking station
I roll out my little carpet in the corner of the basement room, and organize everything I own around it. The framework of my 1 square meter Indian carpet makes me feel safe and contained. Right now, this carpet is my docking station, keeping me from floating off to outer space. There is nothing else. No daily structure. No job. No routines. No home. No life. No friends. The only people I’m in contact with in my local…
