He had blown in on a wind that had raised its origins in a country far away. His homecoming was not so much a whim as a deep seated nostalgic memory that was fertilised by childhood events, events that had formed his ideas of who he was. In his new land he adapted to meet the contingencies of a foreign way of life living amongst people with different criteria and different horizons. He grew to meet the disadvantages of not having much of a back up in terms of a nodding agreements based on generations of folklore and the crowds acceptance. He used his new environment to grow another protective skin and enjoy his new surroundings.
As the years rolled by and circumstances changed the thought of home, the home of his upbringing surfaced. The memory as always played tricks, the pitfalls and rough edges were air brushed out and he was full of optimism for his homecoming and as the plane touched down he looked around for something he could remember as home. His strongest memory was of the people, particularly the ones who had grown up in his parents neighbourhood whilst he had been away. That was where the greatest shock hit him since over time he had changed and the language on which we rely to converse had change. It was not that he didn't understand, they were talking English after all, it was the mental
comprehension that got in the way. We were operating from a different script, a script developed by the environment in which we live and which, to the home comer was now foreign. It would take a number of years to assimilate but the experience gained whilst away would forever colour his native perception, he has become a foreigner in more than one home.
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