I Came Home After Two Years—Unannounced, Of Course

After two long years, I’m finally back home. The best part? This trip wasn’t even planned. No countdowns. No airport pickups. No “I can’t wait to see you” messages. I just showed up. Classic me. In true dramatic fashion, I didn’t tell a single soul. Not even my mother, which—if you know her—is a bold move. So of course, she did what any Ghanaian mother would do: she greeted me with a mix of joy and panic, then immediately launched into, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” It’s a script we both know too well. This isn’t even my first time pulling this off. The last time was during COVID—everyone thought I was still stuck abroad in school, but I pulled up at home like a Marvel post-credit scene.

There’s something oddly satisfying about those moments. The pure surprise, the speechless hugs, the “You this child!” lectures that end in laughter. But anyway, I digress.

My last visit home? Total chaos—in the best and worst ways. I only had two weeks and tried to cram in everything. A spontaneous trip to Togo, reunions with friends, long-overdue family catchups. I was constantly on the move, trying to make the most of every minute. And while I left with great memories, I also left tired. I returned to my regular routine more drained than when I came. This time around, it’s different. I came home to rest.

The Art of Doing Nothing (and Why It’s Necessary)

For once, I’m not chasing a full itinerary. I’m not trying to tick off boxes or play catch-up. I just want to sit still for a while. Because sometimes, that’s exactly what you need. We often underestimate how much we’re carrying until we stop moving. The deadlines, the commute, the daily grind—it piles up in layers, quietly. And when you’re constantly in motion, you don’t give yourself time to process or breathe. But rest is not a luxury. It’s maintenance. It’s how we reset. It’s how we reconnect—with ourselves, with others, and with what actually matters. Since I arrived, I’ve been doing a lot of nothing. Just being present. And honestly, my body is still trying to figure out what to do with the silence. But I know this is necessary. I need this break. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.

A Few Things I’ve (Re)Learned About Taking a Break

Rest restores clarity. When you’re constantly on autopilot, everything becomes a blur. Stepping away—even briefly—can help you see things with fresh eyes.

Your body keeps the score. Elevated resting heart rate? Random fatigue? These are signals. Rest isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom.

Joy lives in stillness too. Not every meaningful moment needs to be loud, fast, or productive. Some of the most beautiful memories are quiet.

Home has a unique way of grounding you. The sounds, the smells, the familiar dysfunction—it brings you back to who you are.

Of course, this trip hasn’t been without its quirks. The heat is wild, traffic logic is… let’s say creative, and my mother is still slightly annoyed I didn’t give her a heads-up, my dad is chill, Nana looked at me for ten seconds and then went back to his own thing and Eben is just being Eben! But I missed this place. I missed the chaos, the comfort, and the unspoken familiarity of being home. So for now, I’m just here. Resting. Easing in. Breathing deeper.

No big plans. Just me and the comfort of being home.