Homesick, Reminisce.
A Fragile Narrative
Brief: Centred around the theme of ‘Fact & Fiction’ write a story based on a life experience. Find a compelling way to express your story in the form of a physical ‘book’. Identify a clear ‘purpose’ and explore the way visual elements contribute to the construction of a narrative.
Outcome: A fragile narrative situated around the idea of leaving home and the realisation that the ‘little things’, which were once insignificant, gain importance upon departure from your familiar environment. My narrative is about the homesickness I experienced upon moving to Falmouth, for University. Central themes include fragility, distance, and the ‘little things’ that remind me of home.
The concertina format allowed me to tell the story in two parts – the painful experience of leaving home, followed by a tale of reminiscence on the reverse. As the pages unfold, my distance from home increases. The book’s format also reflects my feelings of vulnerability, becoming increasingly fragile as it unfurls away from the protective, hardback cover, designed to suggest the front door of a house.
The second side of the story highlights my realisation that when removed from our familiar environments, the ‘little things’ we previously took for granted gain significance. The trail of these ‘little things’ leads the reader back to the beginning – a place of security, support and structure.
The tissue box adds an interactive dimension to my narrative. Tissues are ‘little things’, often disregarded, only appreciated in times of need. My story may leave readers feeling fragile – the tissues are there to ‘help alleviate symptoms of homesickness’, Each tissue holds a screen-printed statement, encouraging readers to consider and find comfort in memories of their own ‘little things’. The tissues are pocket-sized reminders of home, to be carried anywhere in the world. The internal appearance of the box reflects the idiom “every cloud has a silver lining”.
The Story (in full)
I remember the dreadful feeling of anxiety deep within my stomach as the days drew nearer to the 16th of September. The gaps on my calendar became pigmented with large red crosses as the countdown – an unwanted countdown – began. Pieces of paper were torn out of my notebook, creating endless lists of things to do. Consequently, my wall became a blanket of lined squares, reminding me of the ‘adventure’ ahead.
However, those crosses became reality, no more were needed to be marked, it was the day. The day I had been dreading ever since confirming my offer, I was still in a state of unknown, not wanting to admit what was happening. Yet my body knew, my hands started to tremble, unable to carry my bags for any longer – dropping them to the ground, I created a large thud which vibrated the floorboards. In response, my parents both rushed to the room quickly to see if I was okay. My knees locked as I stood still, looking carefully at the familiar objects surrounding me. The brown leather sofas, where my brother and I created ceaseless stories about dragons (kindly played by my Dad). The round glass table which supported multiple birthday celebrations, candle blowings and cake cuttings. Nostalgia hit me like a ton of bricks, I started to crumble, tears flooding down my face as I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to leave behind my life, the life I have lived and loved for the past 18 years, in a house filled with so many memories, times of happiness, cheers, but also sadness. A house that has stored and guided me through life from the very beginning. I regretted wearing mascara that day.
We started to pack the car, filled high with my belongings. As I watched, it felt like my life was being bundled up and shipped away to a new location. The feeling within my stomach still remained from days before and heightened as I heard the noise of the house door being shut – that familiar sound of the alarm and the clinking of keys as my Mum locked the front door. This was the same routine I experienced every morning going to college, however I wasn’t just going to college, to then be welcomed back home at the end of the day – I was going to University, to start a new chapter in my life, to grow as an individual – but I wouldn’t be returning, not soon anyway. I looked up to the window diagonally above me which hid my room. My small white and purple decorated bedroom, masking the princess wallpaper beneath from my childhood. The room which held memories of bedtime stories, sneaky 18-month-old me understanding the art of ‘teddy piling’ to escape the baby cot, only to surprise my parents at their doorway. The room that I’ve cried in, in times of stress, to then be comforted by my Mum and Dad in the early hours of the morning. Dan and I have paved the essence of the room with our love. We have laughed; doing each other’s makeup. We have cried; saying goodbye, due to the distance between us – but that room rekindled the fire present. That room is me. The teddies arranged uniformly on the bed provided the memories of years gone by – from birth to presents from loved ones, for Valentine’s, Christmas and Anniversary’s - these teddies are pieces of me encapsulated in a fluffy structure.
I came out of my sentimental daze and returned back to reality. A small pool of happiness swam throughout my body, reminiscing the ‘little things’ that build up a home. We all clambered into the heavily packed car, buckled up and the engine roared, emphasising the start of my new journey. The car slowly rolled down the cobbled drive and hit the hard-solid tarmac of the road. My heart stopped for a second, in awe and realisation that I was going. It was happening. I turned my head quickly, to focus on my home getting increasingly distant, as we drove away, further and further. My life, my memories, my childhood, my family, my home – all just faded in a blink of an eye. I waved and whispered ‘goodbye’ as we crept around the final corner at the end of the avenue, the build-up of tears made visibility blurred, I blinked, and the tears started to fall down my cheek, leaving droplet marks on my burgundy jumper. My mum grabbed my hand from the front passenger seat, her touch - warm and soothing. She turned her head towards me and I noticed the sadness in her eyes, the sparkle of tears present - her little girl is no longer little anymore, but she remained strong, for me. I glanced up to see my Dad’s loving eyes in the rear-view mirror, he smiled and at that moment I knew I was going to be okay. It will be hard, of course, I was excited to start a new chapter, but the thought of leaving my parents still gave me that unwanted tingle in my stomach – seeing their faces, imagining them at home, without the feeling of me and my brother’s presence, really stabbed my heart. I want to be there for them, always - but I know home will always have its doors open for me when I return.
