I used to live in a part of England that was popular with tourists. The kind of tourist who wanted to experiance the "real" rural England. They would come to my town and thrill at the quaint old shops, delight in afternoon tea at the many little tea rooms. They would be in rapture at the green lush medows and hedgerows, fall in love with the grey stone castles wrapped in their veil of early morning mist. And they would say "Your sooo lucky to live in a place like this!"
I would of course nod and smile polietly all the while thinking something very different. You see England, the land i was born in, is poisoned for me. It has been poisoned by a lifetime of being a JW. I knew my part of the world very well, better than most other locals. After all i did the FS, i had walked every back street and every lonely country road bible in hand.
When others see the beauty of the place i see ghosts. I see the ghosts of memories past, i hear the demons of bad experiances cackling at me. And they are everywhere, snagged on every hedgerow, lurking around every corner. The isolation, the pain and the trauma. All of the whole JW package and all its foul memories, leering, sneering and jeering at the lonely pale person i used to be. Someone all alone in a "loving spirtual family" slowly using up all my own interanl resources to keep going. Finaly all i had was just the sheer determination not to let them break my spirt, but in the end they beat that out of me too.
I used to love traveling to say Scotland etc. Such sweet relief, although i could never pin point why it was so. I guess i was too brain washed. I didn't relax on the M25 ( the main motarway around London) Neither could i relax going then north on the M1. I had to wait until getting past Peterbough before my taunt shoulders could slump with relief.
Eventually i fled it for good. Three years ago, i took a trip to Heathrow, got on a plane, held out for just a while longer while the pilot made his annocements and taxied to the runway. I ordered champange to be put on ice from the stewardess. I sat in the window seat and watched the chocolate box feilds and cottages of England pass underneath me. Finaly we flew over the coast at Southampton, i watched as England slipped away into a mass of grey cloud behind me. I leaned back in my chair, relaxed those ever tense stomach muscles, my shoulders slumped, i picked up my champage and had a sip... it tasted so good.
6 Hours later i touched down here. A land of such brilliant sunshine that there is no need to be afarid of the dark anymore. The unrelenting sun chases away all shadows, the streets i walk here are clean. Clean of ghosts and memories, ever welcoming and happy.
I can never go back, never. Because i can never forget, ever. In three years i have yet to have one pang of home sickness, not even one. No i'm not on holiday in this land, i work here. I live here... I live here, have a life here, a live to be led and enjoyed here.
My passport says "British" and has never reuturned from the one way trip i took it on 3 years ago. My photo albums came with me, but these are stored away safely. So safely so i cannot see them and they cannot hurt me with their memories,i even quite hope that time might ruin the prints.
This is one expat that will never return.