It’s not a trip ending that bothers me so much as to what it entails.
When I go for a business trip, I book a cab to the airport. On my way back, I catch a cab from the airport. I’m alone most of the time, and though I hate the impersonal feel of the hotels, I’m used to it, it’s a part of my job.
But when I go on holiday, I’m never on my own. I always either go with friends, or I go visit friends or family. And my days are spent with people all around me. My last trip was to Cape Town, and there were 12 of us living under one roof, cooking breakfast, lounging around the pool or playing silly games around the fireplace. Even when I was just lying on the couch reading a book, I’d still have people chatting around me… some sorta amiable presence.
And then when I get back, I wave goodbye to my family of 10 days and walk away alone. I struggle with the luggage, lugging it to my house, and open the door to an emptiness that is all the more depressing cos of what I just left behind.
Being a part of a family, for even a brief time, a part of something uncomplicated, somewhere that you’re accepted for who you are, and they actually like you … I miss that the most.
Even after being pretty much on my own since the age of 18, I guess I still haven’t really gotten the hang of being alone.
I know of people who crave it, who are completely happy (or so they say) with not having a semblance of stability in their lives, and being completely alone. I wish I could understand how to be that way. Cos I get the feeling that I’ll probably have to get used to it.
I am comfortable enough in my own skin, and I *know* how to be alone. I won’t go crazy. But I won’t be happy. And it all boils down to that doesn’t it?