Bye bye, James

Dear readers,

It’s never easy waving goodbye to the abode you grew up in. To say a house doesn’t make a home is an understatement. It was my home from when I was a few months old, and despite all my travels and living on the other side of the world, I guess at the back of my mind I have always considered it my true home. My parents made this a very spirited dwelling, one filled with beautiful memories that’ll live with me to my dying day. It’s strange how we grow so attached to spaces and objects, yet seeing my niece and nephew tear around the house yesterday with such jest and excitement only brought a kind of ghostly but sweet nostalgia my brother, sister and I created some 30 years before.

We used to have a red door, the same shade as James in the Thomas the Tank Engine books, who was my favourite train. My mother built the lovely habit of calling out “Home, James” every time we arrived back home from a day at work or a day trip.

I guess, tomorrow morning, I’ll be saying my final farewells to James when I head back to Honduras, as my mum and dad move on with their lives in a new home.

Yes, it’s terribly clichéd, but home really is where the heart is, and it’s been a wonderful home to me.

Bye bye, James.