Homesick

I am a different kind of homesick, the kind who is often sick of home.

I don't know when this feeling began, because I had, and still do have, everything I desire at my fingertips. I was a bird, made fat constantly, by giving it everything possibly want. But this house never felt like home, and my parents are more like zookeepers, locking me up in a cage with no intentions of setting me free.

But I wasn't like my siblings, they were birds who were content with this lifestyle. I just wanted something more. I wanted to fly. And that is the one thing this cage did not offer. Freedom. Dreams. Choices. Own mistakes. Nothing.

But one day I got sick. All my desires didn't make sense to me, because in reality, these weren't desires. These were substitutes. I substituted my dreams of being a writer, by being an accountant, and bargained this exchange for a Mac Book. I substituted my desire to go abroad, by staying at home, and got the latest iPhone for it. I gave up on writing my book, and dad got me my favorite car.

But the day I got sick, all these substitutes stopped doing their trick. I wanted to throw my laptop, and write on A4 sheets until my hand got sore. I wanted to smash my phone against the wall if it meant getting granted permission to pursue my writing. But the day I decided to open my wings up, my parents decided to cut them off. they decided to cut me off. And so, I flew. I flew away from the cage. I ran so far away, I don't even think it's possible to come back 'home' anymore.

But I miss it...... I miss the cage. I miss my caretakers. I miss my childhood bed, and I miss fighting with my siblings over a piece of cake. What do I name this feeling? When on one hand, I'm sick of home, and on the other, I just want to return.

I think that's why they termed it homesick because its definition keeps shifting like a pendulum.