I'm sitting in my parents living room right now after a very enjoyable afternoon. It's funny, I have done things today that I used to do so grudgingly when I was growing up. Like helping in the garden and washing carrots and helping to move plants around. I would bitch and moan about it when I had to do it growing up, but I volunteered to do it now. How funny is that?
I was also thinking about how amazing garden vegetables are. I think garden peas are probably my favourite food ever. Except for maybe strawberries. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Another thought - it's funny how "home" doesn't really feel like home anymore. I drive here and I see all the familiar places, feel all the memories washing over me. I see my old school, the places I used to wander to during school hours. I see the roads I walked when I was bored at home. But it doesn't feel like it should. It's not my home anymore. I have a bedroom here, but it's almost more like a guest room than my bedroom. Everything about here is familiar - the food, the habits, the evening activities - but it doesn't feel the same as it did. I guess this is the beginning of the end of my childhood for real. I've spent so little time here the past year - I rarely went home during the school year because of homework, and rarely the past four months because of work - that it's grown to just be another place that I can go to. I'm comfortable here, certainly. But it's still foreign, in a strange way.
I always knew that growing up meant changing, of course. I expected to lose high school friends, to change my habits and my interests. But I never expected home to not feel like home anymore. And I find that I don't even really mind.
Listening to: Casino Royale
Writing: A.M.O.R.E.
Grateful For: Family
No comments:
Post a Comment