Adulting is a non-fiction series by Daisy Bignell where she explores the daily joys, troubles,and all the in-betweens of adult life.
Artwork by Alex Kieran for healthline zine
It’s 21:08 GMT when I return home from my book club.
Earlier that evening, I had travelled to Southampton, on an unnervingly stuffy train. I spent the short journey annotating my copy of Before The Coffee Gets Cold, by Toshikazu Kawaguchi.
It wasn’t my usual type of novel; a collection of short stories which encapsulated love, loss and memories of what was. But there was something about the magical realism, and the (almost) gothic undertones that had haunted my nights for too long now.
I fiddle for my keys at the bottom of my tote, and upon hearing my fluster, my partner opened the door.
His presence was accompanied with a kiss, as always. There has always been something familiar about him, like we had known each other in a previous life. Across infinite time, combusting stars and ever - expanding galaxies, it seems improbable, but not impossible.
It is these kinds of people we call Home.
Throughout my life, I have sustained a complicated relationship with this term, Home.
For, during my childhood, Home was where Mum would have freshly baked pastries for breakfast on the weekends. Where myself and my sisters would choreograph dances to the beats of noughties music. Where my Dad would take the time to try to get me to understand simultaneous equations(!) Where our dog, Crumble, would jump in the pool during those summertime hazes.
At 16 years, this reality was altered. As the bricks began to crumble, the cracks began to show, and eventually it was just me, and Mum. We moved to the West Country; the county of cow-pat, sloppy cider and those wholesome accents. I felt trapped, but I knew Mum was happy.
Three years ran by, and South America called. Home changed once more, and so did I.
For a brief year, one of which I possess no pictures of, Home was where I laid my hat. I travelled the streets of Bogotá, whilst even now, I could trace the city as a map on the palm of my hand. With a stable teaching job at Anglo Colombiano International School, I began apartment hunting to buy. Counting my Pesos’ I dreamed of the new life I would start there.
My youthful reality became paralysing memories, as they cast dark shadows under my eyes. Call it gut instinct, cold-feet, or missing the very life I ran away from, I shortly returned to the United Kingdom.
It wasn’t until five years later I found my Home.
Everything is beginning to make sense, for maybe this is adulting.
Daisy Bignell is an aspiring poet, born in Surrey and raised in a small village. Having just finished her Masters degree in English Literature, from the University of Winchester. She is now taking time to focus exclusively on her writing. Her works have previously been published in literary magazines, most recently in the winter edition of 'Scribbles.' When she isn't writing and reading, she is playing with her family dog, Crumble.