Now, we’re technically mid-spring and summer’s on the horizon, so I’m still clearing out all the cobwebs that settled in winter. It’s safe to say I’m slowly defrosting. But I’ve taken an express route of sorts. Because I’m in Zimbabwe. At home. A place where it doesn’t feel like my breathing is taxed. A place where the air doesn’t push back.
I haven’t spoken much about the 20 Somethings list… it’s quite slow in progress, but it’s been two months and it feels like I’ve not done much. Still, it’s a promise to myself—to do something meaningful with time, with this awkward year. A reminder that even in the blur of it all, I get to choose how I move. How I live. Some of the things on the list are light-hearted, like reading a certain number of books. Others are heavier, more personal.
I thought number five on the list “leave the country” was going to be the big one. A core memory. A milestone that would come with warmth, tears, deep revelations. It sounds like it should carry weight. It’s a feat. Crossing borders. Returning home. Escaping routine. That’s supposed to mean something. It should evoke feeling. But instead, it felt… light.
I hadn’t been back in over a year. And it’s strange—returning somewhere you knew closely. There’s an unspoken expectation that there’ll be a rush of emotion, a spark, a buzzing in your bones because you don’t know what you’ve been missing. I got home and the trees were taller. The driveway was painted. There were new crops growing. The world had moved on. And so had I. But somehow, I’d expected everything—and maybe even myself—to be just as I left it. Frozen in time. Familiar in all the same ways.
While I was in the not-so-United Kingdom, I realised that all I had to hold onto were photos and videos. I never really filmed or photographed Zimbabwe when I lived here. I thought it would always be here, always be mine. I didn’t feel the need to capture it… until I felt like I was leaving. So this time, I came back with a quiet urgency to record. To document. To bottle the sunlight, the language, the dust, the air. To capture the place that raised me, because I’m not sure when I’ll return again.
What I got was calm. A kind of soft landing. A quiet exhale. Like my body knew I needed rest before I could even ask for it. And maybe that’s what made it meaningful. Not in the way I planned, but in a way that surprised me.
And I’ve had to sit with nothingness… scrolling on my phone, watching my favourite films, listening to my favourite albums. It’s been the calm before the storm that is exam season. Being still has been hard. I’m used to lectures, societies, hobbies, friends, jobs, love-mes and love-me-nots. It seems like everyone around me has something to do. A goal. A mission. An objective. And right now? I’ve got none.
Actually, I do. I should be running sentiment analyses, maybe learning Python, and maybe chipping away at coursework—but this is not the time or the place. I’ve gone on walks, cooked a little, rearranged my old room (then put it back again). I’d be lying if I said that I had anything better to do… My time here feels like a filler episode. And you’d think that going across the world, leaving the country, would be a moment for main character energy. I thought that too. But honestly, I’ve not had much on my mind.
You want to make the most of two 18-hour journeys and a thousand-pound ticket to another continent—home. You want to film and capture everything so that you never look back and say, “I could’ve, I should’ve.” Because who knows when you’ll be back? You want to take something back with you: souvenirs, memories, lessons. But for a while, it felt like the only thing I’d be returning with was silence and emptiness—which didn’t seem appealing. At all.
I had so many ideas of things I might do once I got here… and when the time came? I had no idea where to start.
I don’t think life has been this quiet since I left here in January 2023. It’s a sickening kind of stillness, like a cloudy day. You know the sun is behind all of those clouds, but you’ve got no clue if it will rain or shine. All the potential is there—it’s just out of reach. And if you know me… I’m tenacious. I’ve got to have it—or at least try to have it. But I haven’t felt like trying. Over the past two years there’s been many a flop. Many things out of my control that I’ve had to let go of. But like easy footwear, I can flip a flop.
So… “leave the country” was number five on the 20 Somethings list, and I’ve done it. I’m not sure why I put it on there. I didn’t leave not-so-Great Britain at all last year and I just wanted out for a bit. No destination in mind. And the day after I completed the list, my Mbuya gifted me the ticket for my 19th birthday. It couldn’t have been more needed.
These last few days threw a few surprises my way — a knee injury from a fall, a dead phone the day before my flight. But all things considered… I’m just happy to have been here. Drinking Coke from a glass bottle. Sitting in the sun. Writing. Reading. I spent more time noticing and capturing each still day in my own way.