I grew up sheltered, almost too confined at times. My brother knows this. Friends and family who know me know this. This had me keep my foot out the door sooner than most people around me in classrooms. For many years, my study and rest space was that double bed in a long shared room with my parents. I was only a step away from the kitchen. I tell everyone I learnt how to cook by growing watching her work away in the kitchen as I did my schoolwork. Maybe constant watching for 20 years can do that to people.

I had a foot out the door for years when I was back at home. For years, I wanted to move out, see the world that I was always told was so big. I dreamt of a life far away where I believed I would not have to hide away, where I could be out of my shell, show what I could offer to the world.

I got my own room in our house halfway through university. Put together bits in it with my family, tried to make a space of my own. It felt like a big responsibility and also was a big deal. I was granted some space and privacy in life for the first time. I had to give that up when I moved abroad for school last year.

The past ten months, Belfast sheltered me. I was in the student halls, a stone's throw away from the University and a walk away from where I worked. But throughout the months, I never called my apartment my home. I couldn't. A much larger part of me was constantly sad, hurt, and homesick. I couldn't make myself feel at home at all. I was confused at myself. I was grateful for so much but I felt so unhappy and confused at the same time. Home felt distant.

“Prepare for the things that you wish for.”

After my birthday in March this year, I came to visit Bangor, Co. Down for a dinner night. We were driving down the marina, the cool winter air, the smell of the sea ripe with a looming drizzle, a bunch of pink daffodils, a cosy night in with a comfort meal.

A week after that I was on the other side of where I am right now - on a park bench petting a stranger's dog, my heart weeping for my kids at home. I wrote a long note on my journal that day said how happy I was this close to the sea despite it all. I always speak of home and warmth by the water. On this side of the world, in this island, water is my closest connection to what feels like home.

Two weeks ago, I left Belfast and moved to this city. And for the first time in my life I have plenty of space for myself. Whenever I first moved in, a few folks here knew it was a big deal, a new challenge to take on, a new milestone I had reached in barely a year in this new country. My folks at home knew I was moving but I can't tell if they realise the scope it. And because I moved alone, I couldn't celebrate the big decision as much either, I think.

Because I was expected to and asked to be quieter and be cautious of the space I take up, now in this house, I have space I don't know how to make use of. If my days were quiet before, they are quieter now. But I am hoping to make the most out of this space in my life. Last night, I sat in the living room and sang songs, this morning I was dancing in the kitchen. It will be a process of learning about myself again.

In my personal internalised journey this past year, I have learnt that my love language is acts of service. I don't mind the extra mile because that's how I share how I feel. I am hoping to have a couple of friends over for dinner tomorrow, to share the space with them and to let them know I couldn't have made it this far this year without them.