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Student, Graphics designer, Writer. @ Federal University Oye-Ekiti
Ibadan, Nigeria
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WHEN AWAY TURNS HOME
<p>The room didn't go silent at once, it faded. Just like laughter slowly losing its charming echo. </p><p><br/></p><p>Friends Bags are packed, they rolled out one by one to the park, dragging excitement with them. I saw their silhouette trailed off like a smoke going into the abyss. Home was calling them, and me? I stayed where the echoes lived. </p><p><br/></p><p>First semester had ended like a song half sung, no dramatic goodbye, just people disappearing into their own stories. I was in my room, but it smelled like memories I didn't pack, jokes and cruise still dangling around the room atmosphere, Late nights reading conversation and drama clung to the walls. Everything was still there except the people who made it alive. </p><p><br/></p><p>The Holiday found me in between, not celebrating the festive amidst it, not struggling either, but suspended somewhere between boredom and memories. </p><p><br/></p><p>I looked at the peaceful environment, peace dancing freely through the air, though it had a good intention but it reminded me of friends who had gone home, laughter zipped in their bags. Campus stood still, too quiet, too honest. Though The craving for home intensify, home existed, just not here. </p><p><br/></p><p>I stayed.</p><p>No family table. No long hugs. Just my phone glowing with other people’s joy, my bed, and a heart learning how to sit with itself. I double-tapped smiles on my screen, then let the silence answer back.</p><p><br/></p><p>Holiday cleared its throat notifying me of the new semester. Bills waited. Goals stared. But for this moment ,this thin, fragile pause between the holiday and the reality of the new semester I breathed.</p><p><br/></p><p>I made my own meal. Said my own prayer. Let the quiet speak.</p><p>And in that stillness, something unexpected unfolded.</p><p><br/></p><p>Being alone wasn’t abandonment. It was endurance. Some of us don’t travel home when the season ends. Some of us remain, holding the echo of joy while preparing for what’s next.</p><p>And somewhere between empty rooms and fading laughter.</p><p><br/></p><p>I realized this:</p><p>Break isn’t emptiness. It’s a comma.</p><p>A soft place to rest before the sentence continues.</p><p>Some of us don’t go home. Some of us become it.</p><p><br/></p><p>Catalyst ✍️ </p>
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