A SUPRISE JOURNEY

 A Journey Back Home

There are moments in life that define who we are — moments when joy and pain, pride and longing, all merge into a single memory that stays with us forever. My last vacation to India was one such chapter — one that reminded me not just of where I came from, but also of who I am becoming.

It had been my lifelong dream to build a home of my own — not just a structure of bricks and walls, but a space that would carry my memories, my struggles, and my sense of belonging. When I finally stepped into that dream — when my housewarming day arrived — I could barely hold back my happiness. Standing there, within walls I had created through years of hard work, I felt something profound. At my age, achieving this felt almost unreal. It was more than pride — it was gratitude, a silent acknowledgment of how far I had come through every storm and sacrifice. But joy, as always, had its limits. My stay was painfully short — barely two days in the house I had longed for all these years. Duty called me back to the UK, where work awaited. I left with a heavy heart, telling myself that I would return soon and spend a few peaceful days under that roof. I had no idea how deeply that longing would grow inside me.

Months passed, filled with the usual rush of work, deadlines, and responsibilities. Yet, somewhere deep within, a quiet voice kept reminding me of the warmth I left behind — of home. Then, one fine day, my cousin and his family mentioned they were planning a trip to India in October. Without a second thought, I said I would join them. It was almost instinctive, as if my heart had made the decision long before my mind could. I applied for three weeks of leave from the NHS, and to my surprise, it was approved. We decided to keep the trip a secret from our family — to make it a beautiful surprise. The thought of seeing their faces when I walked through the door filled me with excitement and comfort. Yet, beneath that excitement, there was another truth. My visa was due to expire in March the following year, and I didn’t know what my next step would be. That uncertainty was quietly burning inside me. People saw me smiling, working, living — but they couldn’t see the storm beneath the surface. I was exhausted, confused, and mentally drained. I needed to go home not just for rest, but to find peace — to find myself again.

When the day finally came, on the 25th, I boarded the flight with mixed emotions — relief, excitement, and a tinge of fear. The moment I reached home, my mum opened the door and, with a surprised smile, said, “You again?” Her laughter filled the house, and for that one moment, every worry disappeared. I was home again — surrounded by warmth, love, and familiarity. Those days back in India were bittersweet. Every evening, around five, I would take my car and drive to town — the same roads that had witnessed my younger days. I’d park somewhere near the tea stall, meet my friends, and we’d sip tea, talking for hours about everything and nothing. Those small, ordinary moments — the laughter, the gossip, the sound of the bustling streets — reminded me of a life that felt so distant now. In the UK, life is comfortable, yes, but quiet in a way that sometimes hurts. You don’t even know who your neighbour is. Back home, every cup of tea, every shared story, every sunset feels alive. I realised how much I had been missing that — the warmth of connection, the simplicity of being present.

I indulged myself in all the things I loved — the food, the places, the people. But beneath the joy, there were shadows too. My health had been a concern, and I had to visit the hospital a few times for my heart check-ups. Each visit made me think deeper about the pace of my life and the weight I carried silently. My mind was constantly in motion — tangled between responsibilities, choices, and uncertainty about the future. There was also someone I wished to meet — a friend who had once meant a great deal to me. She was there in town, and I longed to see her. But for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to face her or her family. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe it was fear — fear of confronting emotions I had buried for too long, but I couldn’t take that step. Some distances, I’ve learned, exist for reasons we can’t explain.

Amidst all this, my parents began talking seriously about marriage. Their words came from love, but to me, they sounded like another question I didn’t have an answer to. Maybe someone somewhere is waiting for me. Maybe I am meant to find love when the time is right. But right now, I am still figuring out who I am. I didn’t want to step into another chapter before understanding this one fully. As my vacation came to an end, I felt a strange calmness within me. I had laughed, I had cried, I had revisited my past and questioned my future. Those three weeks gave me something I hadn’t found in years — a sense of reflection. My house, my family, my friends — they reminded me that success isn’t just about achievements, but about the moments that make you feel alive.

Now that I am back in the UK, reality has returned with all its weight. Work continues, responsibilities pile up, and life moves on. But something in me has changed. I have started to look at life differently — more gently, more deeply. I’ve realised that it’s okay to pause, to feel lost, to not have all the answers. Sometimes, peace doesn’t come from solving everything, but from accepting that not everything can be solved right now. That vacation wasn’t just a trip. It was a quiet rediscovery of myself — a reminder that even when life feels overwhelming, there’s always a place, a memory, a cup of tea somewhere in a small corner of home, waiting to remind me who I truly am.

With mind full of thoughts 

Joice joy❤️