Why going back home can be weird

Going back home to Jamaica gets weirder every time. This time, it was particularly unnerving because so much had changed. The Kingston roads were different and so much was happening politically that I wasn’t aware of. It felt like I was a tourist in my home, awkwardly fumbling through the new rules of the country. Looking around all I saw was construction; corner shop spots had been torn down to make more room for the widening of roads. I heard from my mother that our Prime Minister was making big changes no one really understood. I remember being in traffic and having a panic attack because I didn’t know which lane I needed to be in to turn right.

It was then I realized the panic wasn’t because of traffic laws, the problem was much deeper. Going home felt like my country had been changing behind my back without my permission. I felt guilty about my negative reaction because I knew I should’ve been proud of development. I spent the rest of my days documenting the things around me, in hopes of finding them among the rubble when I got back.